


The Key to the Kit

by StargayzerAtty



Category: witches - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Based on a Tumblr Post, Clowns, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Familiars, Immorality, Original Character(s), Witches, professional wrestlers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 93,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StargayzerAtty/pseuds/StargayzerAtty
Summary: This story is roughly 150,000 words long, spread about 30 chapters, consisting of 4 parts.Part 1: Familiars (Chapters 1-9)Part 2: Connections (Chapters 10-21)Part 3: Societies (Chapters 21-28)Part 4: Family (Chapters 29, 30)It contains, among other things, graphic depictions of life, murder, love, and stupidity. Please enjoy it for what it is; A love story about lesbian idiots.Thank you for your time.
Kudos: 1





	1. Katianna's Trout or Trouble

I know this is probably uncouth, or whatever, but I have a question for you.  
Have you ever, and I mean this utterly sincerely, have you ever tried to figure out whether the blood you have is truly virgin blood or not?  
I suppose most people really think that virgin blood means, ‘blood of a virgin,’ and not, ‘blood that hasn’t previously been utilized in a spell or elixir,’ so, I suppose if you know that, then maybe there’s a chance, however slim, that you have tried to puzzle out whether the blood you’ve acquired has been used in a spell before.  
What if you didn’t need to run the spell? What if there were another way? What if I told you that I --  
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to get your face stuck like that.” The voice startles me, and just like that, the vial of thick, red liquid goes slipping out of my grasping hands, spinning perfectly end over end, down, down, do --  
At the very last second before impact, I manage to align my fingers just so and twitch my wrist very properly, and combining all of that and a bit of luck, the vial stops it’s steep drop millimeters above the floor, right-side up, seconds from disaster. With more care than I handle most children, I steadily raise the vial up, up, until I can safely, softly, plop it down onto the table. As soon as it lands, I let myself fall back into my big, comfy office chair, feeling the contours that I’ve molded into it over the years hug me back.  
I want to spin on the spot, shout at the source of the voice for wrecking my concentration, but I can’t muster it just now. Where, moments ago, my skin was dry (maybe a bit pasty, if we’re being totally honest here), my forehead, sides, and ass are now drenched in sweat. A reactionary spell like that, one that you cast in a split second, usually takes the most out of you. If you have even a few seconds to mentally prepare yourself for the impact of magic (or magick, it doesn’t really matter how you spell it) on your body, you stand to waste far less energy and raze far less of your day.  
I have no issue admitting that it takes around ten minutes for me to recover, between wiping the sweat from my forehead and --with sufficient preparation and wasting far less energy-- turning on a nearby fan before I even bother to sit up again. Ten minutes is a pretty swell recovery time, all things considered. I’ve seen witches far more talented than I throw a reactionary spell and knock themselves out for days on end. At the same time, I’ve seen witches far worse than I throw reactionaries around like fucking winks and not once break a sweat. I suppose what I mean to say is, it depends.  
Fucking magic.  
Speaking of which, once I finally rip myself out of my stupor, I do spin my chair around, soft, grey eyes trailing around. It’s not a large room, my… Cauldronroom? Lair? I want to call it something that’s more impressive and, perhaps, frightening than _the living room_. Everyone has a living room. Witches have… I don’t know what the fuck (said the witch). Either way, the room is not huge, perhaps a bit under 5 by 5 broomsticks. Furthermore, is it technically a living room if it’s the entire apartment?  
The foot of my tiny little bed, with the big, emptied suitcase sitting front and center, piles of materials splayed around it like a mimic threw it all up, isn’t more than a few steps away from where I sit on the other side of the room, in my office chair, with an ancient, scratched and scorched coffee table directly before me, where yet more materials are splayed. There’s the virgin blood, of course, a pile of incense, a ceremonial Athame, and so many more little odds and ends than I can quantify. Bits of string, random hairs (most identified to wild animals, but a few to other people), and a fair few different kinds of flowers and leaves. Thankfully, aside from the bed and the coffee table, the rest of my materials are not strewn about the entire place. Just the two-person kitchen table tucked into a corner, the television stand, and probably a bit on my bathroom counter.  
Meanwhile, the little bit of space in what qualifies as a kitchen is full of not-necessarily clean, average cooking pots and pans, and what floor space remains available is utterly wrecked -- Just by my clothes rather than my materials.  
Eventually, my eyes retrain on their original target, and big, unblinking green eyes stare back at me from atop my fridge.  
I stare.  
She stares.  
I frown.  
She hisses.  
I hiss.  
She scoffs at me.  
“Oh, come off of it, Kit.” Kitty, the slender orange tabby cat that is, somewhat unwillingly, my familiar. Of course, when my parents gave me her when I was 5, I could’ve hardly known that my mom had coerced her spirit into the cat by way of flat-out lying, and after these 20 years, I’d hardly be able to survive without her cuddly, charming, down-right gregarious -- “You’ve been staring at the vial of blood for, going-on, three days now. We both know you could do a simple spell in all of three accursed seconds and decipher without inaccuracy whether it’s been best spellbound before.”  
“That’s hardly the point, though.” I groan, flopping back in my chair and letting long, slim limbs drop over the arms of the chair. “As you well know --”  
“Oh, Goddess,” Kitty throws her head back.  
“Jesus, come on, Ki --”  
“Aphra.” She hisses.  
“Sorry,” I hasten, “Come on, _Aphra_. I know I can, I just --”  
“The most talented witches of my era couldn’t connect their essences to their materials, Kit. The most talented witches in the millennia since my era ended haven’t managed anything remotely similar. One singular witch managed it one singular time, and she --”  
“Died. I know.” I sigh but bite my cheek on the next few words that come to mind.  
“Very correct! Died. On the spot!”  
Because she connected her essence without protecting it from merging with --  
“I can still hear your thoughts, Kit. Let it go, please.”  
“Don’t you think,” I sigh, “you could, perhaps, lay off of your protecting pact thing, even just a little?”  
“Right.” Aphra’s mouth doesn’t open, doesn’t have to, and her facial expressions are hard for me to read, but I know when I’ve done it, now more than ever. “I’ll just ignore the only thing binding my spirit to this plane of existence, allowing me to enjoy the comforts of life such as, but certainly not limited to, eating, sleeping, and breathing. Very enjoyable those. I’ll just purposefully allow you to get meaningfully harmed, and you’ll get to watch as my essence is, really, quite violently ripped out of your cat. As you’re burying her body tomorrow morning, all, ‘here lies Kitty, who was possessed for most of her life,’ you’ll want to think of this moment, wherein you pushed your own cat towards suicide, and the rest of today, wherein you spent most of it scrubbing guts off of your walls.”  
I checked out like halfway through her speech. I’ve heard it, or something similar to it, far more times than I would bother counting if I could count that high. The graphic descriptions, the promises of burials, etc., etc., etc., it just gets old.  
“I --” I start.  
“And another thing --!” Aphra continues, and I do little more than throw my head back and scrub my palms over my eyes; At this point, very little would stop her ranting, save for time, trout, or trouble.  
“-- that will be, I swear to you, upon mine goddesses, the last time I ever let you do --” Aphra’s grouching growls smoothly glide into Kitty’s soft purr, raising my hackles like a leaf on the wind. “Hm… Are you going to get that?”  
I didn’t hear it the first time, but I hear it now. A strong, steady, confident knock on the door. “Fuck me,” I grumble.  
“I’m fairly sure that’s the idea, yes.” Aphra snickers at me, big green eyes staring out from fluffy orange prison as I pull myself out of my chair, and have to steady myself on the square foot of bare floor before I begin traversing the clothing pile towards my door. “Do hurry, you might just like this one!”  
As much as I liked the professional wrestler? Doubt it.  
I could, at just about anytime on my way to the door, correct my appearance. I don’t need to check to know that Aphra isn’t wrong -- I stared at the vial for three straight days. I didn’t clean, I didn’t shower, I didn’t sleep, I ate only when I felt myself drifting off and needed to re-up the spell that keeps me, very temporarily, from needing to sleep. My hair is a ragged mess of uneven lengths, longer by a few inches on one side and shorter on the other, where I buzzed it once and then immediately started letting it grow out again, a study in how obviously snarled and gross black hair can appear, and that is to say nothing of the state of my clothes.  
Though, I will, because it doesn’t take long to remind everyone not to wear pajamas for three straight days without any, ahem, bathroom breaks.  
Suffice it to say, I’m sweaty, I’m greasy, I’m smelly.  
Perfect!  
When I pop the door open, the word puke starts immediately.  
“Hi, my name is,” I don’t care, “I’m looking for Kit Murphy? I’ve known you, like, as a member of the community for a long,” blah, blah, blah, “but a little bit ago I was down at this pub, it’s called The,” fucking mothers, “and, it just hit me -- I think I love you.”  
Whatever his name is, he’s a fair bit taller than I am --not impressive when I’m a big, strong, five foot and one inch tall-- with fairly large muscles, a messy mane of brown hair, and thick brown beard. I don’t scan him long enough to know what color his eyes are, nor do I care.  
He drops to one knee before me. “Would you --”  
“No.” I slam the door in his face.  
“Oh, come now,” Aphra chortles, and after a slow blink and a slothic swivel of my head, I see that her body is doing it’s best impression of a human laugh. “That one wasn’t half bad, as far as false declarations of love and impassioned proposals for marriage go!”  
“It was not, as it were, the professional wrestler,” I grumble, half-stumbling back to my comfy chair, and plopping myself down.  
For a few seconds.  
“Okay, welp, I’m gonna go get cleaned up.” I shutter, rubbing my eyes again, carefully standing. “Maybe catch some sleep before sleep catches me. Feel free to claw out the eyes of the next person who knocks on that door.”  
“What if it’s your mother?” Aphra asks, just as my shorts send the flip-top garbage lid a-spinning.  
“Oh.” I hum, stretching as my t-shirt hits the floor and cool air tickles my chest, “Go for her throat. Don’t stop when she screams, either.”  
It occurs to me, as warm, soothing water splashes down over my skin for the first time in over a week --I know!-- that you might be wondering, ‘Hey, Kit? Did you just order a hit on your own mom?’ and the answer to that question is, technically, no, I didn’t. Aphra has, never, not once, attacked anyone I told her to attack. She simply isn’t that kinda tabby. Blood would stand out on her fur too much, I’m told.  
Really, though, yeah, I did. Not that I would order such a hit if I thought it might actually put her in danger, but that makes giving her a hug functionally indistinguishable from hiring a hitman to snipe her from three miles away. Both the hug and the hitman put me in more danger than either ever would her; Maybe one day, a few hundred years ago, but certainly not today, or any tomorrow that comes.  
See, I would say that the modest issues between my mother and I started around the time my father passed away. Sorry, that’s not quite right, around the time my mother used my father to create a daughter for herself, then got bored of him after 6 whole years, wiped his memory clean as a fresh sidewalk and chucked him back out into the world as little more than a husk. He then got hit by a truck on a highway, thus bloodying the fresh sidewalk.  
Oh, I just described my birth, didn’t I? How bout that?  
However, that’s just… Most magic for you. My mom was born in some shitty little village almost five hundred years ago. She’s survived plagues, wars, industrial revolutions, and more than her fair share of shitty people. It isn’t magic that’s kept her alive this long, mind you, witches have relatively long life spans. It’s her utter ruthlessness. It’s her general disregard for what life is, what respect one should have for life, and her relative lack of empathy for the things her magic creates. It’s… Well, basically, she’s your average witch.  
I’m not like that. Yet. Hopefully never.  
If my mom’s average, morally speaking, feel free to consider me below her. She does.  
Which circles us back around to the man who, for all I know, might still be kneeling outside my door. A few years ago, sometime after the police investigation into my father’s apparent suicide, my mom decided she wanted something to do every day, something to really get her out of her empty old house, now that her husband had sadly passed away and, yeah, I’m fucking with you, she wanted somewhere to get some new ideas, materials, and victims from. So, she bought a bar a few blocks from her house, a few blocks from my apartment, with money that wasn’t technically her own, in a deal that was farther under the table than Australia.  
We live in Massachusetts.  
Fun fact -- Antipodal points, like Mass to Australia, make for the strongest magical connections. Which is to say, if I wanted to cast a spell in Australia from here, the best place to try would be a town called Augusta, which is the nearest point to Boston, Mass,’s antipode. Even that wouldn’t be easy, because, after about 100 miles, spells lose their range. Augusta is something like 1000 miles from the antipode. If anyone ends up a way of the southeastern Aussie coast, tho, oh boy, they’d better watch the fuck out.  
But, I massively digress, sorry!  
That bar that my mom now owns and operates is a great place for her to pick out random men to throw at me with marriage proposals in the hopes that I either marry them and have kids or get so irritated by their collective botherings that I think of a creative way to kill them. If she’s Palpatine and I’m Luke, the men she’s throwing at me are Vader. Please ignore the newer movies, as they fuck with this comparison something fierce.  
I should mind you that I’m gay, that my mom knows I’m gay, and she generally doesn’t have any issue with my being gay.  
Thus, she throws men.  
After I step out of the shower feeling a thousand times cleaner, I inhale some fresh, misty air, let the feeling cascade from my lungs outward, and draw my hand up in a draping posture, raising it above my head before quickly splaying my fingers outward. A drying spell like this is simple, but rather dangerous, as it’s been used more than once to dry the 71% of the human body that’s made of water out, murdering them. See, this is why witches lose their moral compass.  
You mean to dry off a baby duck and accidentally shrivel it one time, you might as well do it a hundred times.  
Now sufficiently dry, I step out of my bathroom and eye the space around me. Filthy. Gross. Repugnant. Breathing in now brings none of the calm and centering power the bathroom held, and instead fills my lungs with trash. Another easy spell; I raise my hand flat and, starting with my pinky, raise my fingers one by one, until my hand follows them vertically, and just as my thumb joins the rest, quickly twist my hand toward my person.  
Another spell that’s easy to fuck up. Twist your hand at the wrong time and you’re gonna turn something into stone.  
I’ve done it so many times that I rarely fuck it up at this point, and I watch now as the clothes start to pick themselves up and march towards the laundry baskets, the dishes launch themselves into the sink, which fills itself up with water to aid the scrubber, which gets right to work. I give everything a few minutes to get into the groove before I pick my way across the room, careful to not get myself caught up in the cleaning spell, and start picking out some clothes. I should go out today, after all. Get some groceries or something. See if there’s anything interesting for me to try to improve in the community. The usual shit.  
Underwear; Check. Shorts; Check. Realizing it’s probably a little too cold out for shorts just yet and grabbing some jeans; Check. Cute sweater; Check. I’ll grab socks in a minute when I know whether or not I have any clean pairs.  
I’ve got my undies and jeans on when there’s a knock at the door. My eyes flick over to the orange tabby on the fridge, who says nothing, but could very well be smirking, before I make my way back through the cleaning spell and throw the door open, sans sweater, expecting the proposal puke to start right away.  
She stares down at me. Takes in my chest. Blinks. Blushes.  
I stare up at her. Take in the beautiful mix of shades of blue, green, and brown her eyes always are. Blush.  
“I, ugh,” she stutters, and again, something in me pings. Awkward? Probably. Gay or just uncomfortable? Hard to read. “I wanted to come to ask, uhm… If you…” I want her to say something very specific. Six more words would be nice, more if they were in the same vane, or ballpark, or galaxy, even, as what I dearly want. I want it so hard, convince myself so thoroughly that she’s going to ask me, finally, that my stomach even flips in anticipation. “Had any quarters…?”  
Ah, welp. Fuck.  
Remembering what’s going on behind me, but very aware that she isn’t aware at all, I pull the door a little tighter in, making sure I fill it as much as I can. “Uhm,” I manage, staring up at the lady from across the way like the dumb bitch in apartment 304 that I am. “I think I do, yeah. Gimme a minute and I’ll grab them really quick?”  
“Sure.” She smiles, and I feel my dumb, hopeful knees melt. Assholes.  
I slip the door shut, and lean back against it for five seconds. Just five. I need five seconds. To process. To think. To decide whether or not this is a sign that means I’m doomed to be alone forever.  
I raise my hand, flat, palm down, then curl my fingers and palm down in an inverted, ‘come hither,’ motion, before twisting the held-position upwards, and hithering my sweater to my hand, so I can quickly climb into it.  
As I repeat the motion, my eyes lock onto Aphra’s, and my hand twitches.  
Neither of us has to say what we’re thinking for both of us to understand, on a deeper level than many people will ever experience, what the other feels at that moment.  
I feel like a total dumbass. Aphra feels like I’m a total dumbass.  
The vase that was sat on the floor, holding some tightly packed dirt for a flower I was definitely, eventually, someday going to get, explodes. At the last second, with just a few moments to prepare for the flow of magic to hit me, I throw my hand up, fingers splayed wide, then crash them all together. In front of me, at least, the shards of the vase and the clumps of dirt hit an invisible wall. All around the rest of the apartment, the fragments fly, hitting surfaces, other objects, and televisions alike. The dirt gets into just about everything.  
I drop my chin to my chest and focus on bringing my nerves from sky-high to, at best, sky-scrapper-high.  
“Everything okay in there?” Her voice makes it through the door, sounding as tense as I feel, and more protective than my familiar has ever been.  
_I resent that_ , Aphra argues.  
“Yeah, everything’s fine!” I sigh. Hand flat. Inverted come hither. Twist.  
Roll of quarters safely in hand, I take a steadying breath, step from the door, and turn to open it with an unsteady smile on my face. I don’t open it very wide, just enough for half of me (the half with the quarters) to appear to the woman whose name I don’t know, whose eyes I can’t forget. “I just, uhm… Tripped on something and launched a vase across the room.”  
“Yikes.” She frowns, her fingers almost but not quite brushing mine as she takes the quarters from my outstretched hand. I miss the look of a good think on her face as I carefully drop my hand back down, but I realize after that I should’ve shut it down faster. “I could, uhm… Help you clean it up? If you need?”  
“Oh, no, I’ll be fine!” I force out a decent chuckle. “Really. It’s a bit of bad luck, but nothing I can’t handle.”  
“Oh, good. Okay.” She smiles, and my brain goes dumb again. “Well, I’ll see you later, Kit.”  
She’s back in her apartment faster than I can regain my mental capacity and remember whether it’s rude to not have caught someone’s name by now, so I slump back into my apartment and let out a long sigh.  
“Oh, it’s not all bad.” Aphra purrs, like a fuck.  
“Please, feel free as a fucking kite to elaborate,” I grunt, pushing myself away from the door, away from diving across the hall to beg her to tell me her name in some irrationally hot way, and deeper into my transforming apartment.  
As I pass by her, I glare at Aphra, who remains smugly silent. Instead of doing what I kind of desperately want to do, throw a fireball at her and see what happens (morality is such a slippery concept, after all, right?), I stalk into the bathroom and grab the slightly damp washcloth that’s already sitting there. I wonder, for just a second, if magic used this to wipe down the toilet, but after swirling my finger counter-clockwise over it to grab its history, I realize it’s just what I used to wash my face earlier.  
Carrying the bright teal washcloth in one hand, I stalk back into my… Lair? I dunno, I keep coming back to, ‘lair.’ It’s not a coven, I’ve got one or fourteen of those, and this isn’t those, and it’s certainly not a band, you need Wiccas for a band. Or a Wicca. Either way, I stomp across the room and start wiping down my office chair, along with the bottle of disinfectant I keep next to it for pretty obvious reasons.  
Once I’m satisfied any three-day grime is gone from the leather, I dry it with some paper towels I went and successfully hithered from the kitchen, and plop my ass back down in it. Such a welcoming feeling, sitting in a chair that’s more familiar with your butt than a lover would be. I freeze as the thought lingers, waiting, listening.  
“I won’t say it.” Aphra sighs. “You’re all fragile right now. It’d be rude.”  
“Thank y-” I start, a second too soon.  
“Even chairs are making you think of sex. Getting desperate?”  
I could, for sure, give her a reaction. These days, I’m more or less sure that’s all she’s gunning for. Something that feels fun, exciting, new. Boredom, thy name is being a familiar to a witch who goes catatonic for days at a time to stare at singular objects, probably. On some level, I get that. On the other, I want to toss her out of the window at the closest opportunity; Not that she wouldn’t just vaporate and slam herself into my head, instead.  
One of these days, she’s gonna hit me with a, ‘Aggh, Kit, you used to be fun!’ I just know it.  
“Hey,” Aphra sighs, as if on cue from a mystic Make-Kit-Miserable deity, “You said it.”  
Palm down. Inverted come-hither. Twist.  
The pair of socks that lands in my hand, neatly bundled together, definitely look clean. The trick of it, really, is that magic is great at doing what it’s told; It doesn’t generally interpret the spells that are being used, it doesn’t put a moral lense over the action it’s told to perform, it just does whatever it thinks it’s been told to do. Thus, swirling my finger above the socks to make sure they’re clean is a downright necessity.  
“Said the woman who sat in her own piss for three days.” Aphra heckles, coming ever closer to sailing out the window. She doesn’t reply to the thought, nor does she have to.  
Feeling progressively more grumbly by the everlasting second, I stuff my feet into the cute, pink with white striped socks and push myself up. Fully clothed, like a human being, for the first time in three or four days.  
It’s nice, feeling like I’m actually being productive.  
I’m halfway across the apartment when there’s another knock at the door. My excitement rises, thinking it might be 303 until my ears pick up the satisfied purr my fucking cat is emitting. Is it time, I grouse while I slog towards the gallows of my door, to top the professional wrestler?  
I don’t use the peephole. For some reason, I think, it’ll be more satisfying for Aphra, the neglected, all-powerful, super-spirit, if I skip out on it.  
“Well, hi there!” I’m amazed the way a chortle can sound like a scream, the way it comes out of this man’s mouth. “My name’s --” oh, my Gods, “-- I don’t usually do anything quite like this! But, see, I was performing --” his face is covered in powdered white make-up, “-- and the owner of that lovely establishment --” his eyes and lips are ringed by deep, red paint, “-- her daughter was seeking a supportive, working-class husband who really--” my mother deserves to die in a pit filled with demons, “and I thought, aw, shucks! That sure sounds like me!”  
“I… Why… Are you performing still right now?” I mumble.  
Suddenly, he clears his throat. “Look, I know a lot of guys come up here spouting this stuff about love and destiny, or whatever, so I wanted to make an impression.” He shrugs, and with his bright yellow trousers and a tucked-in green polo shirt, it’s not at all hard to see him doing it on a stage. “I perform for kid’s birthday parties on the weekends, and I thought it’d be worth a shot.”  
I can’t save myself, here. The mask slips.  
“I’m… Gonna kill her.” I sigh, not too softly.  
“Woah, what?” Oh, My Gods, the Clown almost jumps out of his skin.  
Like a kid who’s swung too high but jumped anyway, I crash back to earth with a solid thud in my head. Again, more deeply and with feeling, now, I sigh again. “Sorry, I just… Look, dude, I’m so, so sorry. My mom keeps sending men my way, telling them I just need someone to connect to, or whatever she says, to…” try to get me to murder one of them for my own amusement, “to fuck with me, I guess?”  
OMGs the Clown frowns at me with his big, unforgettable face. “Why would she do that?”  
“I’m gay, she’s a bitch? A rainbow minus the clouds is just rain, and we can’t have a nice sunshower too often, can we?”  
“Huh.” OMGs nods. “Well, hey, that sucks. I know what it’s like to have shitty parents.”  
I do not, consequently, inform him that mine sent him here to get killed.  
“Yeah.” I commit like a lawyer watching their client sign something she told them not to. “I’m sure.”  
“Hey, wait a second.” I’ve started to close the door, but OMGs stops me with a simple statement: “Why not fuck with her back?”  
Curiosity can’t kill my cat; She’s immortal.  
“Oh?” I ask, propping the door back open. “Got anything in mind?”  
As it turns out, no, he did not.  
However, it’s after he runs fresh outta time for his Friday lunch break and goes scampering back to whence clown hell did shit him forward, that OMGs the Clown’s suggestion changes my life.  
I’d plopped myself down on my bed, magically cleared of all the materials I’d magically put there in the first place, staring out the window as the cool, early-April rain pours against it, running my fingers over Aphra’s fur just to take my mind off of everything.  
My fingers catch her collar, my eyes drift down, and the key pattern that stares back up at me sparks in me the kind of genius that lead, to among many other things, the pyramids, the French revolution, the atomic bombs, and electing an absolute idiot to the highest office in the land.  
I wonder, as I shoot up and Aphra tumbles onto the bed, whether I’ve just found my trout or a fuckton of trouble.


	2. Kayley's Less Than Stellar History

_ A shape lays still in my bed, steadily growing and shrinking, rising and falling. I can’t well make it out without my glasses on, but I know well what it is anyway. A smile spreads my cheeks, and I eagerly step out of my bathroom. Before long, I’m back in bed, snuggling up to her from behind. When I press my nose against the back of her head, I get the chance to inhale some of the lovely aroma of her shampoo combined with a day or so of work. Under the arms that I wrap around her, she’s soft but firm, and her warm, full butt fits snuggly against my hips.  _

_ “Mmm.” She purrs as I press up against her back. “You’re chilly.” _

_ “Not my fault, kittycat.” I murmur back, “You know I hurried as much as I could.” _

_ “Mmhmm.” This time a hum, and unconvinced, at that. “I think you waited ‘cause you know I like warming you up.” _

_ “She said,” I joke, “Of her furnace girlfriend.” _

_ This gets a soft, sweet laugh out of her. It’s the kind of sweet laugh that I… I can’t remember... _

The moment I realize I’m dreaming, my eyes pop open, and I find myself staring at the wall of my bedroom. Okay, it’s hardly a bedroom; More the wall of my apartment. Studios, y’know? I have to squint hard at my alarm clock to make out the time and, even then, the 330am doesn’t show up that clearly.

“Motherf-” I bite off the curse, dropping my head back down onto the pillow. It’s soft, not as soft, but the only smell that is shoves up into my face is of stale sweat. I guess the shampoo’s probably there, somewhere, too, but I don’t notice it anymore. Too many months without a switch in scents.

I don’t bother trying to get back to sleep just now; I’m not wired like that, not at all. The way my wires are ran includes insomnia, and the off-switch for said insomnia was hardwired as a warm glass of chocolate milk. Neither plain nor strawberry, nevermind the temperature, do the trick. It has to be chocolate, and it has to be warm -- Not hot, warm. Pleasantly warm. Like a hot chocolate that’s sat around for twenty minutes or so.

Turning vertical in bed doesn’t help my brain make out the shapes ahead of me any better, so after a big, gaping, yawn, I reach over as steadily as I can muster and scoop up my glasses. Once upon a time, I might’ve shoved them onto my face, but now, I take great care, gently lowering them into place. God, I wish I had --

Nope.

I shove the thought away, like any memory of the Last Airbender movie (what movie?) or Game of Thrones’s later seasons (what do you mean season 7? There’re only 6).

What’s important right now is not whether or not I got excommunicated, is not whether or not that left me without certain things that grew to be so vital to me over the years. What’s important is this dream -- I’ve had it for five nights in a row now.

_Why, though? Why is this the dream that keeps happening over and over? Why not one about a puppy? Oh, or I could’ve had one about a horse! It’s been a while since a horse could crush me, but it’d still be nice to get to know one._ _Of course, Kayley, you know why you’re having the dream. You just don’t want it to be true._

As I step into the kitchen, all of ten feet from the bed, I easily slip my feet into slippers to avoid the cool tiles. With my mind focused elsewhere, I grab the blender out of the fridge, and quietly poor myself a glass of homemade chocolate milk. That glass, microwave safe like all of my cups have to be --lest I sleepily put one in there that’s going to blow up-- gets plopped into the aforementioned hotbox and set for a minute. 

Leaning against the counter, the moon pouring in through the cracks in my curtains the only light I’ve got, I let the hum of the microwave carry me away into yet more of my own thoughts.

_Okay, so, you know why, that’s a great start. What about the other -- Oh, okay, you know what, too; A woman._ _Where, when, and who? Where; My apartment. Who? Maybe you’ll have the chance to just… Ask her her name? When? Soon, preferably._

These kinds of dreams don’t happen all that often; For days before my first flight, I dreamt of falling over and over, and did. The night before Tara became my first kiss, I dreamt of kissing her over and over again. For a solid month before my mother passed away, I dreamt of the event, and on the day of, spent hours begging her not to go out into the meadow that day.

My dreams, when I remember them, aren’t random. 

_ Okay, okay. Well, how about this; For her to get into my bed, and I -- Oh, I never saw her face. I don’t even know what she looks like, what her name is, or… Anything. _

This simple fact steamrolls my entire mood. Very suddenly, even the microwave can’t keep me steady.

~~~

Did you know that, among other things, exercise sucks? 

Maybe I always needed it? If I did before I got here, I never noticed. Within a few months of my arrival, however, it became abundantly apparent that I was getting somewhere between a little and a lotta heavier, depending on your perspective. These days, I’ve managed to get myself back where I started, to what various medical sources from the internet call, ‘a healthy weight.’

Still, on morning’s like this, how can anyone enjoy running around?

The weather isn’t what most people would call great; The sky overhead is overcast with thick, grey promises of a soon-to-come heavy rain, but in the early morning the worst it’s letting loose right that moment is the occasional burst of mist. Personally, I can’t wait for later, for when the heavy rains crash down and puddles form and flowers start to tilt downward, when the falling water douses all who step into it without a leaf. 

For now, I’m armed with quite more than a leaf. I’ve got myself a pear of warm leggings on under a slightly-oversized hooded sweatshirt that proudly proclaims itself a fan of some kind of organization. Nearly a year since my excommunication and I still don’t care enough about the various games played by various teams and enjoyed by various persons. Maybe that’s why I need to be running; It’s not like the videogames I’ve gotten into give my body much work to do.

Still, it’s more stimulation than I used to get at home.

My route consists of a handful of blocks around the city, passing by a massive amount of people, dressed in more styles of clothing than I’ve ever seen. Every single day, it feels like there are more and more people filling the streets, smiling and hurrying and snuggling up with a partner as they walk. 

Every single day, it gets a little harder to scan all of them, a little harder to get a good look of their face, to decipher whether or not there’s a connection here, some kind of feeling in my chest that tells me; ‘That’s her!’

I’ve been having the dream, consistently, night in and night out, right around 3am, for weeks now. 3, I think, or maybe more. I’ve not managed to get back to sleep, but the adjustment of going to bed a slight bit earlier came fairly easy; Hah, puns! Anyhow, even with all of those dreams, dreams that are getting longer and more detailed by the night, I still haven’t heard her name or seen her face. I think her hair is black, but I can’t figure out whether it’s short or it’s long. 

I wonder what color her eyes are. I wonder if she laughs in a way that’ll light up my life. I wonder if, maybe, she’ll be a fling. Something that connects me with the world, but little more. I wonder if, one day, one of us with hold the other as the void beyond welcomes us to it; I wonder how long that’ll be, if it should come. I wonder so many, many things on my run, in between bouts of remembering how much I hate exercising and loving how my body feels as one foot falls ahead of the other. 

I wonder so often and so hard that, when the horn blares at me in my parking lot, I almost fall out of my skin. Or, maybe that’s still just a wish. Rather than fall, my feet slip on something --no, not slip and not on something; I know what that feeling was-- , and I just barely manage to maintain any semblance of balance here.

Once my nerves stop exploding, my eyes refocus. After I’ve wiped my glasses off so I can see properly, the car that blew at me is plain, a deep blue, boxy looking thing, with the driver leaning just a bit out of the driver’s window. 

“Are you okay?!” She yells.

My chest booms. A tabby cat stares at me from the passenger seat.

“Hey!” Full lips shout at me, topped with wide, alarmed eyes the color of today’s sky. “Are you okay?” She yells again. Black hair tumbles down one side of her head, while it hangs loose about half as long on the other. She’s mesmerizing, she’s beautiful, she’s…

“I’m good!” I offer my biggest smile. She’s her. I have a face to the nickname. Checking both ways before I trot over, I find I have to stand a ways back to chat with her, the best I can do being to hope that she’s not offended. I scan her car for all of five seconds, not even on purpose, and ask, “You’re moving?”

She nods, freely. “Moving in, yeah.” Her eyes trail with some mild interest up and down me. “You?”

“Exercising?”

“In the rain?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I shrug, not having to force the big smile on my face. “I love running in the rain.”

Her laugh is… Well, I didn’t really try to imagine it, so it’s hard to say that it’s better than I imagined. Still, it’s something… Something amazing. 

“You’re crazy. Watching it, I can get down with. Running in it?” She shakes her head a few times, and for the first time, her eyes meet mine.

I barely notice the small jump her eyebrows make, and I give her a moment to just stare before I smirk down at her, “Something caught your eye?”

That laugh again -- My chest booms.

“You’ve got really interesting eyes is all.” She shrugs, giving me this adorable little pout. If, for whatever reason, I had illusions that I might deny my dreams outcome, they’re deader than my familial relationships now. “I’m Kit. Kit Murphy. Oh!” She turns a bit, “This is Kitty.”

If cats could frown, this one is -- Frowning at Kit, too.

“What about you?”

“Me?” I can’t help but think that I’m acting like someone who hasn’t chosen a name yet, someone without a name, someone who hasn’t signed a lease or a work contract. “I’m, uhm…” But I don’t wanna lie to her. I don’t want to do the other thing, either, but I wanna lie even less. And, if there are any other options, I don’t remember them. So, I sigh through my smile, and say, “I’m Kalypso! It was nice to meet you, Kit.”

As I start to turn away, I hear Kit say, “Hey, what number are you?”

I can barely start running fast enough to avoid answering her. 

If I thought she would remember, I’d feel bad about bailing on her like this.

~~~

Predictably, she didn’t remember.

The next time I saw her was just in passing, I was heading downstairs later that day in some much more comfy, less sweaty, sweatpants and a tanktop, and she was carrying another box up. I smiled at her and waved, and her shiny, silver eyes frowned at me, before she wiped it away and let herself smile at me. I waved. She smiled.

A few times after that, she definitely recognized me, but universal sign for, ‘I know that I know you but I don’t know how I know,’ clouded her gaze like a big red flag. Me? Well, as she carried her groceries into the building and I plopped myself down in the car, I did a Kalypso Classic -- No, no, not Kalypso, not anymore.

I did a  _ Kayley _ classic.

I started doing a think.

What, I wondered, was the difference between lying about my name and lying about what I did, nervous and stupid, in that parkinglot, right out there? Neither, to my mind, seemed particularly more or less intended on my part. Both had the potential to impact her pretty heavily, only I know for a fact that what  _ I decided to do _ had an absolute affect on her. You only find a girl wandering around the hall, unable to remember which apartment is her own so many times before you accept some guilt. After a week, yeah, it went away. 

If someone comes back to life a week after you murdered them, are you less of a murderer? I think not.

Still some things are just… Hard to fight off. So hard.

Once a week or so, for the past six months, I end up at that door. I knock, she answers, I stare, you know the drill. Then, at the end, with those kind, honest silvers looking up at me, I can’t bring myself to do what I think I want  _ or _ what I know I want. I can’t ask her out anymore than I can force myself to pick up the phone and start calling around to find a new apartment to live in. 

After all, I make all my money from home, anyhow. I don’t have anything holding me here except for one beautiful woman that I’ve steadily dreamt more and more about as the months have run on. Snuggling in bed. Getting up to pee. Her getting chilled when I slip back into bed. Over and over and over. Except for one time, exactly one time, when I dreamt about running from her cat.

I could move at anytime. Literally tomorrow, I could have all the things in this apartment that I want to bring with me and be gone like a wisping willow. Literally any time. I should just pick up the phone, right here and right now, and start calling around for vacancies in cheap buildings. Rent-controlled isn’t bad, either. 

I mean, who wouldn’t sign a 6 foot tall, lanky brunette woman with earth-toned kaleidoscope eyes, an unlisted business as her source of income, and no references whatsoever?

Across the hallway, I hear her door close far, far more softly this time than the first -- Somewhere far short of amateur beatboxing musician and yet louder than the professional wrestling actor. Softer than a sigh, I hop up to my fet, spin, and peep through the little hole in the door.

And bite my lip so hard it almost bleeds.

I… Clown. A fucking clown. A literal fucking clown.

I wonder if she considers that a new high or a new low. Either way, as he slumps away, I let loose a guilty, selfish little sigh of relief. Of course she turned him away -- She’s as gay as I am, I know that, for a near certain fact.

I should go over there and ask her out.

My fingers brush the door handle when I squeeze my hand into a fist and start pulling back from the door. 

I should -- Because she lives alone and I so rarely see her outside of her apartment and…

I won’t -- Because she doesn’t deserve to date a girl who’s lying to her from the get go. Even if I tell her the truth after a single date. 

I want to anyway -- Because maybe she feels as alone and topsy-turvy here as I do?

I… Need to do something a little fucking odd.

With a sigh that isn’t nearly as quiet as I would normally try to make it, I storm across my apartment, checking my pair of jeans against the soft blue t-shirt I’m wearing, and picking up one of my guiltiest pleasures of my time here; An awfully real-leather jacket. Even as I slip it on, I think about how some women might fill it out better than I do, might be better built for it, and yet I can’t convinced myself to get rid of it anymore than I could stop myself from buying it.

Some women might look like badasses wearing it. I’m pretty sure I look how I feel -- Like a dweeb.

My jacket firmly on my shoulders, dumbass or dweeb, I pull on a pair of knee-high boots and quickly step outside my apartment. 

A meet a pair of silver eyes, staring up at me, her own door half closed. She’s wearing the same clothes she was --mostly-- wearing earlier; Jeans, a sweater, but now a bigger winter jacket and a hat, too. Oh, and her boots seem waterproof. Big ups to her for that. Oh, and her cat, Kitty, is freely sitting beside her. Not that she looks terribly excited by the prospect, but I guess she knows that if she went wandering, she might get in trouble;  _ Don’t you, Kitty? _

Her big, green eyes flash at me, and I smile down at her. You can take the girl outta the -- Ugh, nevermind.

“Hey!” Kit smiles, eyes flooding with such nice warmth, when she notices me after an awkward amount of fiddling with her keys to lock her doors. “Where are you off to?”

“Hey, Kit.” I smile back, my eyes flicking back down to where Kitty is still curiously staring at me. “I’m just heading out.” Not lying yet. “I got that laundry started so now I need to kill some time.” Aaaand squarely lying now. I don’t need to actively wash my clothes. “Thought maybe I’d pick up some groceries.” Still lying. I don’t eat.

“Oh, that’s nice.” She smiles, but her eyes fog over as she stares up at me. I can tell she can’t remember my name. And I absolutely hate it. Hate myself for it. “Well, Kitty and I were just about to head out to see my mom for a little bit. Don’t wanna be too late, now. You have a fun go of killing time, though!”

“Have fun with your mom!” I call out, a second or two after the pair take off down the hallway, towards the west stairs. A moment after that, a thought slides into place, and I cock my chin as I think, nice and hard:

_ Familiar? _

And Kitty twitches, snapping her head back towards me with those same wide eyes, but now they’re angry and protective.

Silent as a bell I smile and hold my hands up for that ever-useful, ‘I mean no harm,’ and then drop one as the other waves. Then, I turn, and step nice and silently into the east stairwell.

By the time I plant my feet on the corner a block from Gothel’s Ale House, I’ve got a song running through my head to the rough chorus of: She’s a witch, she’s a witch, she’s a witch, she’s a witch, she’s a  _ witch _ !

That chorus hasn’t changed at all and I ring a little bit of accumulated water out of my hair and throw my jacket back on, strolling into one of my favorite places to hangout. In here, you can find all manner of very interesting characters, from former clients of mine to future clients of mine, and if you’ve got a keen eye, you can pick out which is which without much fuss.

There’s the woman who’s taller than I am, sitting cocky and confident at the bar, relaxed shoulders and certainly no fewer than five beers down her gullet. Naturally, she’s not even buzzed, but she can pretend. Her name’s Zeleste, and I guess you could say she’s guilty of real-estate fraud? Yeah, let’s call it that. I think in her report, however, I called it squatting. Then, there’s the obviously underage kid standing in a corner trying to pretend like his height makes him older -- He’s probably guilty of straight-up lying about his age. Easier case to handle, whenever he feels like the walls might be closing in, and he goes looking for help. Then, there are the ones I would never touch -- The portly man holding a pool stick like a pitcher’s bat, for instance. Probably guilty of some actual crimes, that one. No thank you.

Of course, there are the regular, boring folk sprinkled throughout. People who just live within a mile radius and wanted to get hammered like Thor had a vendetta against them; I can’t fault them, can I? I feel exactly the same.

“More of the same?” The voice calls out from behind the bar, and before long Gothel herself and I are staring at each other. After a few minutes of staring me down, she rolls her eyes and waves me over. “More of the same?” She repeats.

That’ll probably be better for me, anyhow. Get me doing something.

“Yeah, sure. What’ve you got for me?” I’ve hardly finished speaking when a pile of manilla files a good 3 inches think plops itself down in front of me. Nonchalantly, I look up to check for anymore raining folders. “Been busy collecting, huh?” I joke.

“You’ve,” Zeleste leans over, the hearing of one of her owls, that one, “been slacking off, lately.”

“Psssh.” I wave her off. “I service the entire Boston Metro, Zel. I’ve been plenty goddessdamned busy lately.”

_ ~Shot through the heart, and you’re a lying bitch~ _

Oh, shut up, me. Yeah, okay, so since Kit moved in and I did a shit thing to her, I’ve been a bit of a slacker. 

“Interesting.” Gothel’s smooth skin doesn’t belay even half of her age, I’m damned sure, and it’s incongruous with the frowns she’s tossing me all the time. “I’ve got files from the entire Boston Metro area in this pile, who say they’ve been having trouble getting a hold of you. Lotsa money gone uncollected.”

What she means, tough-ass exterior or not, is actually, ‘Lotsa people you haven’t helped.’

Either way, I sigh, and carefully scoop up the huge pile. “Well, if I’m gonna get working hard, can I get some --” before I can finish forming the thoughts that would’ve made the next words more real, Gothel’s quietly sliding a glass of strawberry milk, cool and homebrewed, I’m sure, across the countertop. “-- Oh. Heard me coming?”

“For at least ten minutes. Make sure you’re staying safe, Kal. Lotsa people relying on your… Talents… Around here.” She smiles, trying to do that thing where she seems like she’s actually veiling some kind of threat, while being genuine as a crappy leather couch.

I roll my eyes at her and give her one of my warmer smiles, before I give her a nod and start making my way towards the back of the room. The booth that I first sat in, post ex-comming, scared and alone, where Gothel plopped herself down and started chatting with me even though she didn’t own the bar at the time, is nice and empty for me when I get there. Part of me is sure someone was sat here when I came in, and Gothel told ‘em to scram.

Kind ol’ witch, this Gothel.

Did you know, and of course you didn’t, that I keep plain milk and homemade-chocolate-syruped milk at home, but I stay the fuck away from strawberry like it were akin to cocaine?

For me, it most certainly fit the analogy. At least, the affects match it somewhat; My engery goes way the fuck up, my attentiveness, too. My nerves, my inhibitions in general, I guess, crash like a newborn baby bird. In this kind of environment, where Gothel is here to kill me if I start doing something stupid, that’s fine. Outside of here, at home for instance where I could randomly march across the hallway, knock on Kit’s door, and kiss her soft, welcoming lips harder than --

I start, glance at the files, and then down the not-small cup of strawberry milk like the milkaholic I know I am. I catch Gothel’s eye roll and, in the second before the liquid hits my gut and sends me into outer space, I think, ‘Oh, wow, she noticed. Fuck.’

Then, somewhere between a minute and a millennium later, I blink, hard. Then, several times in rapid succession, the pile of files is spread out in front of me, and I know the details of every single one without even really trying. A handful of the people in this room match the pictures in their files; Others don’t but they aren’t too far off, either. Close imitations, just needing a little help getting there. 

The boy in the corner wrote his name down as, ‘Legolas,’ as though I didn’t know from looking at him or something, and he makes the, ‘Contact ASAP,’ list. I’m half-tempted to call him over right now, but with the milk wearing off and a crash coming soon, I figured I’ll be better suited to call him. The first thing that’s gotta go is his name. Lady grant me strength.

Portly billards man has his own file, too, and his name gets the same, ‘Oh, hella nah,’ reaction from that fucking Legolas got. No popular culture references -- I’d tell Gothel to change her name, too, if I thought she’d do more than set my hair on fire. Plus, I’m pretty sure that’s her actual name. Only pretty. Although, Biggie might also be his name. I don’t care -- That troll gets the, ‘I’m not helping you if it’d stop you from trying to murder me,’ pile. For… Obvious reasons, I’d hope. Better he get found out sooner, honestly.

I pick a few more people out of the crowd, make notes of my impressions of them crossed with what their file tells me about them. Only two more get the, Murder me,’ pile, anyhow; A woman named Sora Kell (seriously? Come on, guys) and someone who only wrote a big, fat oval in the spot where one would be expected to put their name. I took a Dot before, and Dot almost bit my head off. No, thank you, Dott.

I wish I could tell you I don’t notice when she walks in. I wish, so dearly, that I could tell you that my face is still so thoroughly buried in the files and sussing out what I could do to help them, what advice I could give, and what lies I could help them construct, that I don’t notice the entire mood of the place change.

It doesn’t get quiet, exactly. That’s never the affect she has on anywhere, I’d wager, but I don’t think she and I have ever been… Out, per se, at the exact same place at the exact same time. Maybe I’ve sensed her presence crossing my path a handful of times, but never, that I remember, here. In any way.

It still takes a few minutes for my eyes to pick her out -- She doesn’t stand still between entering the bar, changing the mood of everyone here --from Legolas to Sora, hell, even the normies notice-- and the moment where, after a brief, heated exchange with Gothel, she propels herself upwards, landing squarely with her boots upon the counter.

That’s very unhygienic. And just to think, with the worries about plagues elsewhere in the world these days. 

“Ladies and lords!” she shouts, her grey eyes huge with excitement and trailing about the bar for a moment, until someone with some very long limbs casually leans over from this side of the bar and kills the music. Everyone noticed that, and no one liked it. The vibe that arises for a moment, one of a bit of miffed bemusement, melts when everyone sees her. Very suddenly, everyone loved that; Or, about half the people here. The straight guys and the big ol’ dyke in a certain corner booth.

“Thank you in advance for your attention.” She continues as though she hadn’t paused for near-on half a minute. “I’m sure all of you know who I am, or know of me, or… Well, are aware of me, in one form of another, even if you don’t recognize me.” I frown, wondering what she means, until, “After all, most of the lot of you have tried proposing to me!”

_ Huh. _ I can’t help but frown.

“But that’s why I’m here tonight! See, I’m at home most days trying to get some very, very serious business done, so I thought I would inform you all, suitor and observer --” my eyes dart around here, wondering if she’s noticed me, even as her eyes continue roaming the room, fueled by the high of announcing whatever it is she’s got. I mean, she’s also high on the bar. “-- alike, that you’ve all got yourselves a second chance!”

The crowd might erupt, or most of it, but my stomach implodes.

“See,” it’s now that I notice that Kitty is here, too, stalking around Kit’s feet like a veritable tiger.  _ Her _ eyes are locked on me. I’ve not gone unnoticed by someone in that apartment at least. “I want some peace and quiet, so I’ll tell you all what…” She gestures down, “I’ve put a key in my cat’s collar just a while ago; The first person who opens my door with the key from that collar will actually get my hand in marriage.”

Silence.

Crushing silence.

Ringing silence.

Stampeding silence.

Shouting silence.

Caving silence.

Laughing silence.

It’s the laughing that final breaks me from my stupor, as Kit flops her butt down on the bar in a now half-populated bar, and turns, still as high as ever, back to Gothel. The only thing I make out from the exchange, what with the grousing of the other remaining patrons, is Kit throwing her hands up and yelling something like, ‘Gotcha!’ before storming out.

There’s a relationship out there that’s just far too much for me to figure out right now.

Hollow. Chests are supposed to feel like that, right?

Not right.

I don’t know how long I’ve sat there, catatonically frowning at the table, before Gothel pops down in the booth, scooching til she’s adjacent from me. “She does like being dramatic, doesn’t she?”

I say nothing. A gear slides into place.

“Kit, I mean.”

That gear turns another.

Gothel sighs, “I’m not sure what I ever di --”

And that sets off a chain reaction of ideas and guesses and hair-brained ideas that all culminate in one single motion; I scoop up the files I want, and vacate the premise just as fast as every other patron had.

“Kalypso?!”

Maybe one day, I think absently. But right now, Kayley’s the human with a plan, here.


	3. Katia's Palaces Within

Bliss is having not one single motherfucker knocking on your door for several days.

Bliss is having the complete and under peace, the one hundred and twenty percent calm and serenity that you need in order to make some not totally-insignificant strides towards your goal of figuring out how to connect your essence with an object you’re trying to read. 

Bliss is sitting around without clothes on at all because the temperature inside your apartment rises as the days grow warmer, yet you don’t expect any of the aforementioned single motherfuckers knocking on your door and, potentially, being crazy enough to break in if you don’t answer.

Today, I stare at a rose. The blood I got last week went bad, magically speaking, as all blood does after a few days. Rather than getting another fresh sample, which would require cloth coverings, my choice has been to grab random things about my apartment and see if I can’t identify anything interesting about them. A day or two ago, it was a plastic waterbottle, and trying to figure out where the plastic had come from. Today, an equally plastic rose that came in a bouquet one of the twice aforementioned fuckers thought would impress me.

However, I’d simply be lying if I tried to report to you that any major successes were had. Rather, really, I learned a lot of things that I can’t necessarily accomplish through this fashion; With the waterbottle, I found that I could not focus on the water within as a single entity, but rather it became easier to picture it as individual drops instead of as a body of matter. I also learned, in doing so, I could just start to get a sense of it’s magical essence, however feint, but I couldn’t coax out such a minor source. 

I haven’t gotten shit out of the rose in the six hours since I started staring at it, post-Aphra-enforced nap. 

This, really, is the problem with Aphra’s enjoyment over the last few days; She returns home in the evening largely invigorated and joyful, loving life and her position, and then remembers that part of that position, insofar as it’s one of power, includes keeping me from doing dubious amounts of harm to myself; Which, sadly, a fourth-straight day of magically induced wakefulness probably would have done. She wasn’t wrong about that.

The successes of the idea far outweigh the problems, at least. 

As I mentioned earlier, this past week or so without a single interruption has been practically nirvana. Not only have the fuckers stopped harassing me via my door, but now Aphra isn’t sitting around bored out of her mind all day, every day I decide not to go out. Instead, she can go out into a world that’s trying to catch her but not murder her, by any means, and run absolutely wild.

Oh, yeah, I should remind her not to pee at anyone, again, funny as that story was.

My nose wrinkles at the thought, and focus slips from the stupid rose enough to realize that it’s, frankly, been far, far longer than I thought -- I got up around 6am, alongside the sun, and that sun is currently nowhere to be seen. The light that I’ve got left in my apartment is pouring in through a streetlight across the parking lot, and Aphra herself is resting on my bed.

Resting, but not sleeping, if her eyes locked onto me are any indication.

With a huge yawn and an even bigger stretch, I slowly lean my way out of my chair, until I’m standing properly on my feet. “Heya!”

“Heya, yourself.” Aphra purrs, fairly softly. “Enjoying some of the extra freedom that third floor living provides?”

“You could say that?” I shrug, yawning again, and rolling my shoulders as I strut across the room and into the technical kitchen. “Time absolutely flew by today, for me at least.”

“I can tell.” Aphra replies, but I can’t really read her tone. “The only thing that did any flying for me, today, was… Well, me.”

“Oh?” I coo, popping open the fridge and stretching down to grab a yogurt off of the bottom shelf. “Someone kick your ass for being such a pain in theirs?”

“Oh, no, nothing quite so quaint.” Now, I can tell she’s scowling. “A very handy individual tried to throw hatchets at the branch I was sitting on and very nearly succeeded on hatcheting me, instead; I had to jump to make sure that last one missed me.”

“Jesus.” I groan, bumping the cool door closed with my bare hip. “Some people are just monsters.”

“Someday,” Aphra hums, “I’ll ask you when taking his name in vain came into vogue.”

I shrug. History was mostly filled with my people getting burned alive, so it wasn’t exactly my favorite subject.

“That’s fair.” She agrees, “History was pretty shit to us.”

“Us and a fair few others, yeah.”

“How are you referencing, just now?” Aphra asks, stretching herself and hopping to the floor to half-saunter her tired body to plop down near the coffee table. “General human-on-human shittiness? Or human-on-us shittiness?”

“Technically,” I shrug, “The majority of their shittiness on us was still human-on-human. S’not like witches, wizards, fae, or sorcerers didn’t start off calling themselves humans.”

“Start being the optimal word.” She nods, “Call me a human now, I might gouge your nipples.”

I roll my eyes, slipping a bite of strawberry yoplait between my lips. You’ll leave my nips alone if you know what’s good for you.

“That I will,” she snickers. “Still, though, now there are some pretty deep divides between humans and the rest.”

“Such that humans largely think we’re all myths, yeah.” I nod.

“Hm.” Aphra hums, not offering any reply. Instead, for a moment, she simply lays in place, her tail softly swishing. Pensive Aphra can be… Somewhere between discomforting and terrifying. I’m not sure how I feel about it, just now. Eventually, she comes up with, “How do you feel about us-on-us shittiness?”

“What, like, our own little division bullshit?”

“Yes. For instance, even in my time, sorcerers and wizards hated each other fiercely enough to divide themselves with oceans rather than miles.”

“Wizards in Europe, sorcerers in America, wasn’t it?” I frown.

Aphra nods in response. “Right. Not that anyone remembers why they hated each other, these days. No one wrote it down, and they don’t have long enough lives for it to be within living memory.”

“Not like the fae and witches.”

Now, Aphra’s nod comes alongside a grim, “Exactly.” There she goes, being all pensive again, before adding, “Hard to blame the fae for that, though, isn’t it?”

I can’t stop the sigh that escapes my lips. Every thought that’s just gone through my head involves every cruel or callous thing my mother has ever done in her life. I cock my head slightly in acknowledgement, “Very, very hard. I’m sure there are still some alive within that community who still remember the raid, the big one, and then the discoveries of what had happened to their kin afterwards. My mom wasn’t apart of it herself, but she was alive at the time. Hundreds of miles away, long before any kind of quick means of communication, and she heard about it in under a day.”

“What were their excuses?” Aphra murmurs. “I’ve never heard much in the way of specifics, just… The crime itself.”

“Their excuses?” I shrug. “Nothing worthy enough to repeat. Something along the lines of, ‘A lot of magical energy packed into a dense body. Great for elixirs.’ or some bullshit like that. Why are you suddenly so interested?”

“Just on my mind a lot, lately.” She shrugs. “The fae were still great friends with the rest of us, involved in trade and communication, and a loose community themselves. To come back hundreds of years later…”

“And find out that the fae have gone into hiding, even from the rest of, ‘us,’ such that they could all be dead for all we know?”

Aphra nods, only bothering to add on a soft murmur of, “Fairly jarring.”

“Don’t make puns, this is a serious conversation.” I shoot and, based on the look Aphra gives me, miss. “Sorry.”

“But they’re not dead, are they?” she says after a few minutes of glaring at me and yet more pensive looks. “They kick other fae out every once in a while, don’t they?”

Do they? I haven’t heard of anything like that, ever.

“Well, all I know for sure is that it’s fai-” Aphra catches herself, “pretty rare. They only do it in cases of, say, murder or attempted exposure.”

“I’m going to assume you don’t mean, ‘trying to flash others in public.’”

Her eyes go rolling like her body probably does in it’s grave. “Accurate. Assumption.”

I shrug. “Why do you care? The fae have largely avoided us for centuries, we don’t know where they are, what they’re doing, and --I’d assume-- that they make it hard for anyone they give the boot to to figure out where they are after the fact.”

“I happen to think that I may have seen such a, ‘Booted Fae,’ recently.” She tuts at me, “Nevertheless, learning the mistakes of one’s ancestral past is never a bad th-”

“Who?” I butt in, my eyes locked on her. It’s not, exactly, that I’m assuming a fairy in the area might have ill intent against me, specifically, but I’d want to know on the off-chance that, ‘murdering a witch,’ gets you let back into your community.

Aphra hums again, frowns at me, and even tucks her chin, but nothing she does stops me from catching her eyes flitting to the door for the briefest of seconds.

It only takes a moment or two to click. “What, 303?”

“You still can’t remember her name, can you.” She frowns. Aphra’s great at making things that are technically questions sound like the exact opposite. “And, yes, I mean  _ 303. _ ”

“I promise, again, that I’m not losing my mind.” I sigh, “And, what exactly, about 303 makes you think she’s fae?”

“Oh, there’s quite the list. Not sure I have time before I head back out to keep your suitors interested in leaving you the hell alone.”

“Well, I want that list.” I frown. “Any second now would be great.”

“Mmmm. Y’know, actually? I might have the time, but I’m feeling very slee-”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll jump out the window.”

Her eyes shoot open at the same second her paws land back on the ground. For a moment, she looks alarmed, then her eyes narrow and she shoot at me what are best described as poison-dipped daggers at me. “I really, really hate you sometimes.”

“The list?”

I can’t blame her for being a bit grouchy about this -- If she doesn’t wanna tell me, decent thing to do would be to simply allow her the agency to decide. On the other hand, if 303’s anything other than your standard, run-of-the-mill human and I’ve managed to both not notice and be half-way to crushing on her all at once… Well, hell, y’know?

“I don’t have anything all that strong. And I’m not sure she’s actually a Fae. She could reasonably be anything. But an ex-Fae fits the best with what I’m thinking.” Aphra manages to get out, even as she sounds like she’s ready to rip my head off -- Protection pact or otherwise. “I’ve asked you this a few times, but do you remember the first time we met her?”

“Oh, and you always look at me funny when I say, ‘Here, in the hallway.’ Or was it the stairway. Either way --”

“You’re wrong.” Aphra’s acidic mood evaporates entirely, and now, she sounds almost giddy. “I always assumed you’d just forgotten --”

“Forgotten what, exactly?”

“-- but that was hard to reconcile, because normally you’d remember almost hitting someone with your car --”

“I did fucking what the fuck, now?” My voice breaks, though Aphra neither notices nor heeds this.

“-- but, I remember seeing her, this being 303, locking eyes with you for a few seconds and, I guess, frowning really hard. Then, she took off after telling you her name.”

“That’s your great evidence?” I huff, “That could easily be explained by my having a lapse in empathy about almost hitting someone with a car?”

“Well, I haven’t brought it up because it just seemed really random! Then, the other day --”

“Which day?” I prode.

“Exactly.” Aphra snickers. “On the day you announced this whole, ‘Key in the Cat’s Collar,’ thing --”

“Oh, I got her so good.” I muse to myself, flopping onto the bed all smug-like. “The look on her face!”

“-- 303 was at the bar.”

“Excuse me?” I shoot up, almost over-shooting and flying off the bed before I manage, at the last second, not to fall on my ass. “She was there?! 303? Was she alone, was she drinking, was she --”

“Lords above, shut up.” Aphra grouses, blinking slowly up at me. “She was sitting in the back, one of the big booths, with a table-full of files. It seemed like she was working.”

“Huh.” I frown. “How come I didn’t see her?”

“Too high? On bars and on life?” She purrs. “But, that’s not the most interesting thing that happened that day, with her.”

“Oh?” I hum. “What  _ was _ ?”

“When we were leaving to have that new collar made, detachable key and all, do you remember who we ran into in the hallway?”

“303.” I answer, softly. Aphra nods, and plows forward.

“Well, you and 303 had whatever conversation you had, I mostly wasn’t paying attention, and then while we were walking away, 303… Looked at me and…” Aphra frowns. “I don’t know how to describe this in any sense that isn’t magical. She connected with my mind, otherwise you’d’ve heard her, and she just said, ‘Familiar?’ Not like, accidentally, not like she was hoping I wouldn’t hear, like she wanted me to hear so she could judge my reaction. When I spun, she just kind of smiled and walked away.”

That sits with me for a few minutes, not that I know what the hell to make of it. Was she trying to do with me, then, what I’m trying to do with her, now? The idea that she’d pull that off as a non-magic user is absurd, so, now, I just need to --

“Hey,” I realize,”if you know her name, you could just tell me, couldn’t you?”

“... What do you mean?” Aphra frowns.

“Like, 303? You could just tell me her name.”

My big, sassy, occasionally assholish tabby cat, her eyes wide, slowly tilts her head at me. “Uhm… Kit… Katia?”

I shudder. “No full names, please, Aphra.”

“Right, sorry, sorry. It’s just…” She’s still frowning, still staring at me. “I’ve been saying her name, at your face, for literally months. I thought you were just forgetting it, still?”

I just stare at my cat for a few moments. Or, maybe minutes. I feel like my world just tilted on its axis, and the only way I can figure to react is by taking my actions as slowly as I can. For one, despite the building rage in my gut, I don’t know that she did this, I don’t even know that she did it on purpose, so I definitely shouldn’t go over there and murder her in her sleep. Definitely, one hundred and twenty (thousand) percent should not do that.

It’s not just that I can’t remember her name -- I can’t even hear it. It doesn’t pass through my filters of perception, it gets deadlocked outside of my consciousness, far and away from where I would actually be able to use it to put --

Wait, why am I at the door?

“Katia!” Aphra’s shout shocks me out of my stupor, and without saying anything, I turn, pad back to my chair, and flop into it like a limp, cold pancake.

A moment later, Aptha’s in my lap, staring up at me, and all I can think to do is mutter, “Hey.”

Very slowly, without asking for my okay, Aphra pushes herself upward, gently nuzzling her head against my cheek. “Are you alright?” she murmurs.

“Aside from the feeling of utter violation and the threatening disassociation? Sure am! Just chipper.”

For a few moments, that’s all we do. Aphra nuzzles against my cheek, and sooner or later, I end up wrapping her in a hug just to make sure she’s actually there. It’s… Nice.

“It… Might help you to know, or not  _ know _ exactly, but… To think about…?”

“What, Aph?”

“I don’t… She probably didn’t do this on purpose.”

I can’t help the sniffle, or the interest in my voice, when I hum, “Hmm?”

“Well… If she were a fae, then she grew up utilizing magic in a different way than either of us did, right?”

“All that means,” I huff, “is that her immorality is different from your average witch. So, what?”

“No,” Aphra replies, and suddenly I feel like a small child rather than someone who could kick her butt out the window if I ever wanted to. “What it means is… If she  _ were _ a fae, and she  _ isn’t _ now, then… They’d’ve taken away her source of magic when they excommunicated her. Think about how we use our connection to the essence of the world --”

“Our hands?” I murmur, and suddenly small child is a school child.

“Exactly,” Aphra’s patient purr almost breaks the sudden calm that’s blossomed in my chest. “If we were some kind of tight-knit community that self-policed and excommunicated those we found either too immoral or, through a certain lense, not immoral enough, and we didn’t want them to be able to effectively use magic anymore --”

“It’d be impossible to sever their connection from the world.” I finish. “So we’d break their hands.”

“Hypothetically, at least.” Aphra nods against my shoulder. “The fae grow up in tight-knit communities somewhere, excluded from the world, learning one kind of magical connection, and one kind only. Exactly what the laws are there, we don’t know. But, what we can guess --”

“They grow up using wands.” I hum.

“ -- and if they broke a certain rule, for whatever reason --”

“The authorities that be might kick them out, with wand in tact… Or they might not.”

Aphra leans back, now, staring at me from just a few inches away, close enough still that her whiskers could tickle my nose if she turned her head. 

“And if they didn’t,” I continue onward. “And then you felt you needed to use magic for… Safety? To avoid some awkwardness later-on --”

“As you always had.” Aphra murmurs.

“-- you’d be kind of shit outta luck. Whether your connection is strong enough to the world to make what you want happen, nevermind happen  _ correctly _ , would be… Suspect.”

“And,” Aphra wraps us up, “You might not realize that for a while after you’d gotten here.”

Hypothetically.

The word bounces around in my head, through the moments where Aphra’s staring at me, through the moments were she decides to curl up in my lap, through the moments when she falls asleep. Through the hour or two she naps there.

This is all hypothetical. We don’t know for sure what her reasons might’ve been for… For cursing me. We, I, don’t know for sure that she did it on purpose, that she even realizes she did it, that she would trust herself to undo it if she could. If I knew any particularly talented magic users, other than my mother, I could ask them to go diving around in there and remove that little curse in my brain -- Probably wouldn’t even be too hard.

Aphra can’t use magic, not properly, in her current body. Her spirit can project just enough to where she can pull some things off some of the time, but not always. 

My mom is just straight up out of the equation. I have no interest in asking her for her help. Besides, if anyone decides to murder 303 today, it’ll be me. I sigh. We’ll see.

I look down at Aphra in my lap. I glance out the window in to the cool, dark night, where a soft rain has started to pelt down against the pane. I hadn’t even noticed the soft patter over the sound of my own thoughts, but now that I can, I can’t stop hearing it, thinking about it. My brain, unprompted by me, thinks of her name that way -- Like rain that I can’t have noticed until now, and now that I have noticed (or, in this metaphor, noticed that I can’t notice), it won’t go away, it won’t leave my awareness of my person.

I look back at Aphra, taking her nap in my lap. Peaceful. Quiet. The rain falling in the night makes me feel the exact same way, and if I had only failed to be made aware of my lack of perception, I could easily fall into the same slumber. I didn’t fail, however, because my cat, my familiar, told me what I should have noticed myself. 

I want to remind myself of all the witches, fae, wizards, sorcerers, and pixies that have ever tried to magically rend their own minds, I want to remind myself of all the times that’s gone terribly badly. Of all the names I know, personally, who’ve accidentally nixed the wrong connection and ended up catatonic for the remainder of their natural lives because they couldn’t swallow down their prides and let someone else do it.

I want to. I don’t.

Instead, slower than the soft inhales and exhales of my lovely, occasionally exacerbating familiar, I inch my arms upwards.

There are somethings that no one teaches you how to do. My mom taught me so many of the spells, the motions, the gestures, that I use on a daily basis. Even she, however, would not have taught her own daughter the spells for fucking with her mind; Making this all the more dangerous. Nevertheless, no one ever taught me how to ride a broomstick, I figured that out on my own. No one ever taught me the spell for curing a hangover, I figured that out on my own. No one ever taught me the spell that lets you manipulate your body for temporary, let’s say, fun bits.

Some things, no one teaches anyone because they’re hard to teach. You need to learn how to manage them on your own.

Some things, no one teaches anyone, because they’re downright dangerous for anyone to know. 

Fucking with your own mind is not of the former category. 

But magic, in its entirety, is not all so complicated a thing. Oh, the second you begin to break it down even a little bit, you find that it --quite like a crack in the glass-- has intricacies beyond what you could ever imagine. However, just like a crack in anything, you can follow it, let it guide you to where you want, or need, to go.

That’s not, by any stretch of anyone’s imagination, easy to do.

It’s hard work. It means that, as I creep about my own mind, I have to be ready to reverse any course I might take, I might find that I’ve made a wrong turn and separated myself from my guide, and it’s imperative that I backtrack as quickly and carefully as I can, that I find the river before the forrest swallows me whole.

It means that, as I follow synapsis after synapsis, up and down the fragile, interconnected patterns intrenched in the soft, malleable folds of my brain, I need to be ready, at any split second, to undo any motions I’ve just done. And, I need to be prepared for the real possibility that at any particular moment, I might just accidentally severe my connection to my brain stem and kill myself. 

At any moment before I started, I could’ve stopped myself. Within the first five minutes, too, I could have just let my hands drop to my sides and given up. Could’ve saved myself and lived to be an overly proud bitch on another day. As soon as my eyes slipped shut and my fingers started to follow a pattern not set by the brain they now delve within, however, stopping is not as simple as dropping my own hands. 

Rather, to safely bring myself back out of my brain now, is to backtrack the entire way, successfully. And to start the backtrack before I’ve even found the block would be to invalidate… All of this, all of the prods and retreats, all of the progress I’ve made.

Perhaps, that’s why Aphra doesn’t just attack my arms when she wakes the first morning. She knows better. She hates me the moment she sees what I’m doing, certainly, but she can’t well hasten my own suicide attempt like that, without similarly bringing about her own. So she sits in my lap and she watches.

She watches my arms twirl about, she watches my fingers bend and dip, twist and --more than once-- crack. She watches and she waits. At some point, she rises, dipping out to ensure that she’s being chased in place of my apartment door. 

Deeper and deeper I dive into the working processes of my own brain. I know not nearly enough to begin to understand what it is that I’m doing. I know as certainly as anyone who would shout me down for doing this that what I’ve started in on now is as brain dead a decision as I might make when I actually end up brain dead because of this.

I push on. Through connections I can’t hope to understand, pass functions that work on an every day, constant level, that I daren’t fuck with during this dive. I push on. Deeper and deeper. 

When I find it, I can’t begin to comprehend what I’m looking at, or feeling, or… What sensation to attach to it, exactly.

I guess I imagined a bit of magic sitting in your brain as looking a bit like a swirling, mystical ball of energy. I believed, mistakenly, that when I came upon the block that needed removing, it would be so obvious that I would simply focus my will upon it and then be done, and begin trekking back out. 

I must pass it several times before I recognize it for what it is; An intruder, a block, the thing I came in here to rid myself of. When I recognize it, when I focus in on it, it becomes clearer and clearer that it’s infinitesimally small, no bigger than it absolutely needed to be in order to accomplish the goal of blocking a name from passing through my brain. 

With something so teeny, you might assume that ripping it out would be an easy task, and you’d be assuming right along with me. We’d both have been wrong. 

I try to grab it outright the first dozen or so times. Try to grasp it firmly and start tugging it along with me, back out of my mind. However long this dive has taken, however long it’s been since my arms got to rest, it must’ve melted exhausted the part of my brain that actually knows how the hell to handle itself. 

This is fucking magic, after all. It’s not going to do what it isn’t told to do.

The fact that it’s magic that someone else put there makes it a bit tougher to cajole, add in the fact that they clearly used a different kind of magic than I’m used to, a different format, and the recipe you’ve come up with is Kit’s Worst Fucking Nightmare for Trying to Pull Magic Out of Her Brain. 

Still, if the ethereal, unthinking, cosmic bullshit called magic respects anything, it respects perseverance, above all else. 

After what have to add up to be a few high-hundred, if not low-thousand, varying attempts, I eventually manage to reactivate the part of my brain that does critical thinking (for funsies). Once that’s happened, it’s actually pretty trivial to start to manipulate the little spec of energy, and begin to manipulate it outward, pulling it along behind me as I visualize myself traveling outward. 

This, however, doesn’t last terribly long. Before I get all that far with the magic that’s been blocking 303’s name from my conscious, my tired, sweaty fingers finally make a huge mistake, and that teeny, tiny, little pulse of essence effectively gets shredded. Now, generally, it’s not a bad thing to counter a spell by simply tearing the essence of it to shreds… However, this does have the adverse affect of releasing a lot of energy with nowhere to go into a confined space that is, in this particular instance, my brain.

I’m not entirely sure I can describe the pain for you, not adequately, at least. 

The first spike feels like it’s deeply imbedded in my head, and it quickly pulses outward, sending tendrils of pain wrapping throughout my entire body. It manages to push my consciousness outward, sure, but that’s the last thing on my mind as I experience what I can only truly relate to you by calling it an Inward Apocalypse. I feel, all at once, like my temperature has exploded upwards and plummeted, my muscles all collectively cramp up as one, and slacken the next moment, before cramping again. I feel collectively exhausted and energized like never before, I feel like I need to puke and eat a whole buffet table worth of food all at once. The silence around me rings with deafening percussion and even that isn’t loud enough. 

I cannot focus on a single thing. My tongue is swollen and missing. My lungs don’t know how to function. My stomach has released every ounce of acid in it outward into my body and it’s now melting me from the inside out. Parts of my body that I didn’t know I had, some little nerve here, a cell there, everything hurts, and everything inside of me wants me to know about it.

When I come to, I’m laying flat on my back on the floor by my chair. The sun, awful thing it is, is shining in through cracks in the curtain, and I… Can barely tell. Turning my head hurts, as my neck aches, and when I eventually manage to sit up, that hurts, too.

My chair’s right there. I think.

My bed’s across the room. I think.

This is my apartment. I think.

I can’t see anything clearly.

Annoyingly, that matters very little to me, right away. I know that figuring out what I did to my eyes will come later, that it’ll be hard to adjust to and, probably, somewhat expensive. But that, being a responsible adult about that, can come later.

Because I can think. I can remember. My brain is my own. I know --

“Oh… Hey…” Aphra collapses onto the floor in front of me, though I only know it’s her because she’s talking at all. “Welcome back to the land of the living… Hope you enjoyed your… Week long vacation… Please tell everyone to stop chasing your cat.”

I blink a few times, and before long, I actually feel energetic. I feel like I’m ready to get up and run a marathon with monsters from my own nightmares nipping at my heels. I feel like… I have a better idea.

“You know, Aphra,” I murmur, “I don’t feel quite ready to give up on that yet… But I want you to take a break, okay?” And, carefully, I lean forward, pressing my fingers against Aphra’s collar, and deftly fake how well I can see. 

“You gonna have your mom trick another familiar into an orange tabby cat so you --” I lift the collar to my own neck, and Aphra lets out maybe the longest, deepest sigh I can remember hearing from her. “-- Oh. Alright. Be safe or whatever. Don’t get hit by a car. Watch out for animal control. Avoid male cats, they’re the worst.”

“Glad to have your vote of confidence.” I chuckle, crack my knuckles, roll my shoulders, and get started.

I know her name, finally. And I will never, ever let myself forget it again.

Now, I just have to figure out whether I hate her or not.

Oh, you beautiful-eyed, terribly confusing woman.

Kalypso.


	4. Kay's Rather Decent Plan of Action

I won’t tell you anything that’s not true. Or, I won’t  _ try _ to tell you anything that’s not true. It’s a subtle, but important, distinction.

Let’s take a moment to explain; See, perception among magic users is hella important, right? So, for instance, if a witch of any race --let’s say elf, for the helf of it (no, I’m not sorry)-- wants to present themself as a member of another race via transformation.

At first, that’s a lie, and everyone would consider it a lie, justly. Over time, not that there’s any particular cut off or expectation, that person whom was originally an elf would experience enough of the troubles and tribulations and stereotyping and more, because there’s always more, that other members of that community would likely say that it’s okay for them to continue presenting as, say, a gnome or tiefling. Perception matters; One month, people view your presentation as a mockery and might just beat you half to death over it, and the next month, someone calls you a slur associated with your new race, and other members of your race will help you beat that person half to death, if you’re so inclined. 

Mind you, that’s just among non-humans. Don’t go trying that shit in human-only spaces, because no one is coming to save your dumbass in that situation.

The point is, perception matters. How you see the world, and how people think you see the world, it matters. 

And, so, I’m sure that my perception will be wrong, in some areas. I’m not purposely misleading you in those moments were you happen to know more than I do, unoften as those scenarios will present themselves.

Got it? Good. Okay.

I swear to you by the goddesses above, it sure did look to me like that man, dressed as a robot as he was, was chasing a cat that sure looked like Kit’s, thru someone else’s yard. And, insofar as I was involved with calling the police on him, it was at least 50.1% because it was occuring on someone else’s property.

I know what the other 49.9% is, of course, but telling the truth doesn’t always mean saying it.

Anyhow, I really didn’t think he lived there. It was a very nice house! The woman and her kids were staring at him like he was fucking crazy! He was dressed as a robot!

I should add, I guess, that this occurred in the middle of the afternoon, just as the sun was starting to visibly drop out of the sky for the evening. I, and my apparently flawed ability understand reality, was trudging my ass home from another day trying to talk Legolas out of using the name Legolas. For whatever reason, the 99 year old elf on the verge of maturity and choosing a social name for himself, was dead set on Legolas. 

If he still lived among elves, fine, have at it, buddy. I wouldn’t care a single iota. If he’s going to live out here, among humans, then drawing extra attention to himself is a terrible idea. Especially drawing people’s attention to his ears, which are naturally going to be the hardest for the Fog to handle, and the thinnest, easiest point for humans to see through. Honestly, if he wants an eye-catching name, he should just call himself Julia. Julia’s a lovely name, and most people wouldn’t expect it on him, and it  _ wouldn’t draw people's attentions to his ears when he ought to be trying to ensure his species remains hidden from humans! _

I digress. My day with Legolas started around 11 this morning, at the behest of Gothel whose message for me earlier in the day sounded something like the promise of a coming rapture straight out of the Book of Genesis. Except the rapture I’d experience would be pain, according to the woman who I know doesn’t mean it. But, if she could take that time to write out an epic poem in Olde English about an incoming demise based on the predication that I’d not spent enough time working this week --or, no, not working enough today-- then I can surely go spend a couple of hours with someone lacking social perception.

Turns out, I hang out with someone who’s lacking perception all the time!

Anyhow, I’d decided to walk there and back for a handful of reasons -- It was miraculously not ice-raining, sleeting, or sunny (the three worst kinds of weather for walking), and instead was a lovely, cloudy kind of day. Except, more in that lovely bright way, not like when it’s going to storm. For another, Leggie O. Las (suggestion #1), didn’t live too far away from me, at least for now. His goal, so he claims, is to move out to Los Angeles and make it, not as an actor, but as a set designer; Which, okay, fine. That’s easier for me to manage than actor or, god forbid, movie star. And, the main reason being, I haven’t managed to catch sight of Kitty the Cat one single time in the past two and a half weeks were she wasn’t sprinting away from someone or threatening to urinate on someone who was getting a little too close for her comfort. Basically, she’s my favorite cat ever, although I’ve never disliked a cat as is.

I could, I suppose, try to kickstart my plan from one of those scenarios, sure, wherein I saunter in next to a cat, that most would assume doesn’t understand the concept of crisis resolution, who was just chased for the better part of fifteen minutes, and try to start the process of befriending her. Generally speaking, that might work, but I figure it’ll have a lot less success than if I can catch her once she’s had a little longer to cool down.

I haven’t seen Kit herself at all. Not one since the night in the hallway, where she looked as pretty as ever and her cat looked so un-cat-like that I wondered whether it’d always been a cat. Not once. Not a smile, not a glance from those perfect-day grey eyes, nothing. Awkward and stilted conversations aside because I’m a dumbass who can’t get her thirst out of her mind, I miss seeing her. Really badly.

If you’re asking, ‘Does she realize how pathetic that is?’ then, please, kindly keep it to yourself.

Also, yes. Yes, she does.

Once I’ve finished watching the man explain to the officer, again, that he lives there and was chasing the cat on his own property, for about the dozenth time, I finally finish the small cup of yogurt I’d bought across the street. Around then, I figure it’s as good a time as any to hit the ol dusty trail and walk the last twenty minutes home. 

It’s only as I set the reusable container on the return cart that I see her. 

Sitting just ahead of a shrub, tucked on the other side of the iron fence that surrounds the small area, is a bright orange tabby cat that has to know that she’s as well hidden as a pink haired woman at a brunette convention. And those huge, minty eyes are trained directly on me. Every step I take, back to the table to scoop up my bag and then the steps I take that bring me roughly parallel with her, where she sits across the sidewalks and the road, I barely see her blink. 

And, I suppose, to say that she looks happy to see me would be… Well, refer to what I said about lying a bit ago.

If I had to guess, not that I have to, it’s because of a little magic I used more than half a year ago, and I can’t blame her anymore now than I did when she hissed at me outside the building a few days after they moved in. The message then, and probably now, too, was to stay the fuck away. I listen so well, don’t I?

It takes a good, hard think to project the thought across the wide street, to get it into her head;  _ Heya, Kitty. If I promise not to snatch at you, could I come a bit closer? _

She stares at me for so, so long without a reply. If I hadn’t seen her stiffen at the thought, I might’ve guessed about whether it had gotten through or not. Behind her, I can see that her tail is still as a stick, and she’s barely sitting on her haunches at all. Springs come to mind. Eventually, though, a few cars crossing in between us later, she slowly, slowly nods. Without thinking, I give her a smile and return the nod, too.

It takes me a second to figure out where the nearest crosswalk is, and stroll as casually as I can along the way, until I can hussle across it with a lull in traffic. My eyes don’t leave her for any longer than a few moments during the thirty seconds it takes, worried she’ll run off if I take too long, but by the time I get there, the only move she’s made is to hop up onto the stone divider between the two small homes, and back a slight bit further away than she’d been before.

No worries, I wouldn’t trust me either, right now.

She’s sitting the same way she was before, though now her tail is drapped off of the ledge to her right. Her eyes still don’t leave me, not until I sigh and lean my forearms down against the fence, lucky to have something that’s a good lean for my height.

_ Heya. _ I smile at her.

As much as a cat can emote, she scowls at me, and I do my best to adjust accordingly, dropping my smile to match how I feel just then; Guilty.

_ How is she doing? _ I push, as gently as I can, and watch her scowl turn into a confused frown on me.  _ You can reply, if you want to. _ I decide to explain,  _ Think it, decide to let me hear it, that’s about all it takes. _

Still, she frowns at me, and again, I can’t help but feel the mistrust is warranted.

_ Here, I bet I can show you! _ I smile again, and it takes all of a second to pick out a squirrel scurrying across the yard next door. When I nod at it, she turns her head towards it, and as soon as she does, I push my thoughts at it, instead;  _ Hey, buddy! _

The squirrel reacts like a crack addict who thinks you’re coming for their drugs. Put another way, it reacts the way most squirrels do.

_ Hey, fuck you, fuck you, okay? I found these, these are my nuts! _

I laugh, softly,  _ Hey, y’know, they’re yours. I just wanted to say hi. _

She doesn’t buy the word of me, the most trustworthy humanoid in the conversation, and replies,  _ Okay, I’ll tell ya what, ya fucken fuck, you want a nut? You leave the rest of my nuts alone, I’ll give you a nut! _

_ I -- _ don’t get very far before she rears back, and then chucks a nut directly at my head. I move my head very slightly and, her not being a baseball player, it goes very far to the left of me. Of course, there’s no further reply to give, as she took off running the second she threw it. 

I turn my attention back to Kitty who, by my best estimation, is snickering at me. I give her a little laugh, too, and shrug, “Squirrels, right?”

She doesn’t reply. 

The shit of it is, I knew I’d have to bite this bullet right from the start. The best part is, I’ve wanted to bite the fuck outta it for over 6 months. 

_ I wanna know how Kit is. I’m sure you worked out that I cast a spell on her to make her forget that day, when we first meant. I assume you told her within the last week or two. I know it didn’t work the way I  _ meant _ it to, and I know that what I meant isn’t what I  _ did,  _ so it isn’t all that relevant. But I wanna know how she is. Please. _

I wait for almost two minutes, sure that she isn’t going to respond, before I let anything else out. And, then, it’s a drop of my chin and a long, hard sigh.  _ Alright. Thanks for hearing me out… I’m… I want her to know I’ll leave her be, if she wants, and, _ finally, I raise my chin, doing that shitty little smile that almost everyone does when they’re trying not to cry,  _ that I’m very, very sorry. Stay safe, for both of you. _

Chin down and swimming with emotions ranging from, in order of least to most prevalent, self-pity to self-disgust, I turn and start to stride away, long legs carrying me away faster than the average, fun-little-walk back home.

What a gross thing to try and do, apologizing to her through her cat of all things. And, what, spurred on because you can talk to a cat but not a girl? That and the fear that the girl you like is going to marry some piece of shit who --  _ No, the fear is that she marries anyone else and you know it. _ Not that she’d have to follow through if someone did get the key, not that it makes sense that she’d give a key out like that, not that Kitty is even the kind of familiar who’d let some shit like that happen to her wi-

_ Kalypso! Wait! _

When I turn towards the voice, or roughly where it’s coming from, Kitty’s on the ground just behind me, breathing oddly heavily for a very active cat that’s just had a long rest period.  _ You okay, Kitty? Wait, is your name even kitty? _

_ No, that’s just some dumb thing Kit came up with when she was a kid. _ She explains, quickly getting her breath back after another moment or two.  _ Thanks for stopping. Your legs are way, way too long. _

_ Genetic gift.  _ I shrug, happily ignoring the rest of the street around us, instead using a quick glance around as an excuse to shoot my jacket sleeve up to my cheek and dab some of the tears away. Aw, fuck -- I wore mascara today.  _ What’s up and what’s your name? _

_ Aphra. And I… I just wanted you to know that Kit almost certainly doesn’t want you to leave her alone. She’d… Probably just appreciate an apology straight to the face more. _

I nod.  _ Aphra. I like that much better. And, I figured, about the apology. Just… I find it hard to keep my tongue in check around her. It’s always doing stupid shit like asking for quarters instead of apologizing. I don’t even need to do laundry, I just clean my clothes with magic. Far more efficient. Rambling, sorry. Any chance you’d wanna walk and talk? It’s getting late, I assume we’re both headed home. _

_ Hmmm… Sure, yeah. I suppose. _

_ Awesome. _ I smile down at her,  _ I’ll even walk extra slow so you can keep up. _

_ Hah. Alright, giant, whatever. _ She chuckles, and I can’t help but enjoy the sound, finding it something like a watered down Kit laugh. Familiar and witch matching up decently well, then.

_ So,  _ I say after about half a block of walking,  _ she’s okay then? _

_ For the most part. _ Aphra answers, and I appropriately frown down at her.  _ About a week and a half ago, she told me that she thought you might have been an ex-fae. _

_ Smart kitty. _ I hum, and I swear she almost purrs.  _ What gave me away? _

_ I’m not quite sure. All the stuff I knew about you seemed to confirm that, and that’s how she ultimately realized she wasn’t forgetting your name, but that she couldn’t know it, or hear it, or perceive it. It was like you put a Fog over your name, somehow. Anyway, once she got it out -- _

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Definitely not the right affect, hell, maybe not even the right spell. Fuck.

_ \-- I can still hear you, you know? _

_ Sorry. _ I jump, trying to be as polite as possible.

_ No need. I absolutely understand. She’s still crying over a vase she blew up a few weeks ago, one that belonged to plant that she didn’t own, and probably wasn’t ever going to own. I’m sure she gets that your fucking up a cast was going to affect you a lot worse, if you were a decent person, than the plant vase she's tearing up over. _

_ I try. _ I joke, unable to stop myself.  _ Who’d she ask for help? Oh, duh, her mom. Obviously. _

_ Nope. She didn’t ask anyone for help. _

_ Oh my Goddess, is she okay?! _ I shutter, and my voice comes out a cracking shout. Rule number one of self-mind manipulation is: Don’t. More often than not, it ends in death or, possibly, worse. More than one world-famous magic user, historically, ended up literally rotting their brain from the inside out, and dying very painful, public deaths as a result of trying that shit. 

_ She’s… Fine. A bit, well, blind. Legally speaking. She had to get a prescription, and that cost her a pretty penny, but she’s fine. _

I cringe. That’s a shitty one --not having crappy vision, per se, I do just fine-- but doing physical, practically irreversible damage to yourself because you fucked about in your brain. It’s probably worse if you only do it because --oh, goddess-- because a stranger cast a shity spell on you.

_ I… Honestly, Kaly, don’t worry too hard about that. _

I can’t help my eyebrows popping.  _ What do you mean? _

_ She knows better. She knows that she could have just as easily walked across the hall and demanded you undo it. Or gone to her mother, much as their relationship is stressed. Or walked into a magically-approved bar and paid someone less than the glasses and the appointment ended up costing her. She made that choice. The idiot is lucky -- _

\--  _ to be alive. _ Aphra and I say at the same time.

_ It’s kinda shitty that going mostly-blind and experiencing a shitton of pain is getting off easy in that situation. _ Aphra sighs,  _ But that’s mind magic, for you. It’s so complicated and intertwined that you’re better off just not fucking with it. _

_ I’m sure you tried your hardest to stop her, Aphra. _

_ Yeah… Not that she gave me the chance. _

_ Witches, am I right? _ I laugh.  _ Fae, too, sometimes. Although, usually our sense of community is strong enough to stop us from doing really dumb shit. _

_ Usually? _ Aphra murmurs; Fucking busted. Right outta the gate, too.

_ I assume you’re assuming that the usually applies to yours, truly? _

_ Is that assumption correct? _

_ Yep. _ I sigh, long and weary.  _ All I have to say is: It had been a hard few years. I was young, stupid, and just trying to make things… Normal, again. All I got was excommunicated and my own fucked up eyesight. _

_ You weren’t born with shitty sight either? _ Aphra asks, her head cocking up at me.

_ Nope. No fae’s born plainly bad sighted. We developed a long… Habit… Of doing our best to detect things that would make life harder on the colony. We’ve got some strict laws about what that means, what can be changed; Physical things that don’t generally affect personality, only. Of course, like always, there are those who break the law, but the doctors who do it are risking the excommunication of themselves and anyone else involved in the practice. _

_ Were you --? _

_ Oh, Goddess, no. I wasn’t involved in anything like that. Those fuckers usually do their best to change things like sex (most fae are born women, something like 65%), race (monogamy can be a very fluid concept when you can change your appearance every day), and the various, ‘genetic indicators,’ for homosexuality. Mind you, none of which are actually indicators. And, most of the people born under those conditions feel… Deeply, deeply violated. I could never do that to someone. _

_ And you don’t? Feel violated for having, like, your vision corrected? _

I blow some air through pursed lips for a few, long moments, trying to steady myself.  _ It’s usually up to the parents to decide whether they want to tell their child if they were born with what we call alterations. If I had any done, I don’t know about them. Besides, its been ruled repeatedly that none of the things that they change can be done to improve the child’s life, only the colony as a whole, so even if I had been, I think I'd be okay with it. Specifically, as it relates to eyesight; Glass, _ I raise my eyebrows over my glasses,  _ is hard to come by, both the materials to make it naturally and the spells to create it magically. We might only need a teeny amount, given the shrinking, but that’s still more glass than we can produce, considering all the windows we need to keep big, fuck-off insects away, if we let nature take its general course. But, there are completely blind fae -- 100%, can’t see a thing fae.  _

_ Really? _ Aphra hums.

_ Mhm. They don’t need glasses, so their brains are left alone, and everyone makes do. We’re much better at making plastic, which allows us to make devices which allow for… Effectively echolocation for the deaf. Neat concept and, given a few years of training, most people adjust so they basically don’t need their eyes unless they wanna read some shit. _

_ What else is adjusted? _

_ Usually height, because cloth can be a pain in the ass to produce, but even height is half-genetic and half-diet and lifestyle, so they mostly leave that alone if they can. Sometimes they’ll adjust for risk factors; Cancers, addictions, and a variety of other diseases. As much as they can, but as little as possible. _

_ What do you mean? _ She frowns. Did you know that cats can frown and it’s fucking adorable?

_ Well, genetics is just a fancy way of saying, ‘What your parents gave you.’ Change too much of it -- _

_ And you can’t tell which kids belong to you? _

I nod.  _ Or who’s related, which is a whole nother basket of snakes no one wants to open. _

_ Huh. _ Aphra yawns, and I think only for a second to joke that she’s getting bored of me. In reality, I know she’s been running all damned day, and a tease like that might seem more like a jab at Kit. Something something indentured servitude.

_ It’s all riveting stuff.  _ I joke instead, letting myself laugh a little to reinforce the idea it’s a joke. Of course, to anyone we pass who might just give a shit, I look insane, I’m sure.

_ It is. You grew up in that kind of society? _

I frown.  _ I… Yeah?  _ Despite the not talking, I have a hard time swallowing down a bit of spit.  _ Yeah. Of course I did. Tight-knit community, and all that, y’know? Not a lot of differences to be had. _

_ Never felt pressured to be perfect? _

I feel quite happy to shake my head, here,  _ Never once. I mean, not more than I guess is average. It’s not like the teachers spent all day telling us, ‘Now, we put a lot of resources into making sure you weren’t born with an enlarged colon, Jezel, so you need to be perfect!’ The first few years of school, what we actually learn is more about how to work together, to solve problems, get things done. By the time we’re a few years upward, most of the year already feels like we’re family, and those who don’t are encouraged by their classmates to join in. _

_ Sounds very loving. _ Aphra observes, I guess enjoying to listening to me bable.

_ You could say that.  _ I nod, and absolutely refuse to let my brain slip too deep into any contradictory memories, while continuing, _ It can also be super strict. When we’ve had a few bad months, everyone has to pull together, or we all die. Pulling together means not consuming more than your rations, and sometimes turning in the people you’ve grown up with and trusted because they’re hoarding shit from people who need it just as much as they do. _

_ You’ve done that? _

_ Turned in loved ones?  _ I have to shrug, more nonchalant than I feel.  _ Everyone has. Most of the mistakes people make aren’t immediately met with massive punishments. Recitivition, that is to say, repeating a past mistake, is met a little more harshly, but that mostly just means getting assigned to a weekly group of mistake-related recitivitists, to listen to what made them start and what convinced them to stop. Since we’re taught from a young age that the group matters, we’re more likely to, y’know, listen.  _

_ Is there a jail or a prison? _

_ Noooope. _ I whistle.  _ Crazy, stupid fucking concept, prison. As though you committed your crime in a bubble, without society failing to help you first. _

She’s fast, our Aphra;  _ Rapists, murderers? _

_ I can’t speak for either of those as they occur in humans. _ I disclaim like a proper git,  _ but what we learned as our society grew and consciousness about gender issues and sexual harassment, rape included, was that it was more about feeling helpless and out of control when society was telling them they should have all the control in the colony. We changed our messaging, the commercials we let be put up, what we were teaching in later schooling years, things like that, and found that those rates went way down. After that, we found that what was left were people whose mental health had severely deteriorated, and once treated, they rarely re-offended. Which is not to say, mind you, that they weren’t watched like hawks. As for murder, a lot of that was some kind of similar reasoning, so by simple correlation, murder rates fell as we changed our society to correct for gender discrimination and aggressive mediazation.  _

_ You sound like an expert.  _ Aphra compliments me, and I can’t help but frown.  _ What? _

_ Nothing. I mean, I should sound like an expert. I was doing my -- The Fae equivalent of a PhD on societal reconstruction after the Just Wars. _

_ The Jus -- _

_ The Just Wars can be understood as a very, very loose social equivalent to your American Civil War. Only if it had 3 parts, and 3 different armies fighting for power, instead of 1 fighting to leave to keep their slaves and 1 fighting to keep the country together while not really giving a shit about the slaves, at first. _

_ I’m surprised you know much of anything about world history. _

I can’t stop the shrug, or the softer tone of,  _ I was a social historian before, I’m still a social historian, now. The only thing that’s really changed has been the subject matter. And also my height. _

_ Where you smaller as a Fae? _

I stop dead, and slowly, very slowly turn my head down towards her.  _ I… Do you really need me to answer that? _

_ I meant proportionally! _

I roll my eyes and chuckle a little bit.  _ Ah, fair enough. _ Pretty quickly, we get back on track, and I --eventually-- decide on,  _ Well… Yes and no?  _

_ What on the Gods’ green earth…? _

_ It means,  _ I laugh,  _ that when I was smaller than I am now, fairy sized, I was a little taller, but a lot thinner. _

_ You were thinner?! _ Aphra groans,  _ Honestly, how did you survive? You’re already a practical twig! _

_ Manual labor is highly unnecessary when everyone’s got magic. And the diets of those who decided to eat were still well-regulated enough that everyone maintained a weight that’s on the lower-side of the healthy curve. It’s nice that certain issues are nonexistent, but everyone having a fairly similar body-type can get… _

_ Unstimulating? _

_ I was going to say boring. But, sure, unstimulating works, too. _

_ I imagine you like your girls with a little more… Well, butt? _

_ Eh. _ I shrug, doing by my best to keep the coloring of my cheeks under control.  _ More or less? I won’t tell you that I make the most logical decisions about who I am going to and not going to like, and my attraction is only to persons who fit into certain socially-acceptable romantic partners for myself to want. I mostly just like who I like. I’m mostly just attracted the way most people are; Whatever my brain says after putting everything through the, ‘Am I actually into her or does media tell me I should be attracted to her?’ filter.”  _

_ Very grown-up and mature and the like of you. Hey, how old are you anyhow? _

_ I dunno. _

_ Hold up, what the fuck? _

_ I don’t know, at least not in a number that’ll make sense to you. We don’t follow the same calender that everyone else does anymore. Different number of days, different number of months. We took the gregorian calender with us, but no one uses it anymore, and it fell out of vogue long, long before I was born. _

_ Give me an estimate? Mrs. Historian Brain Power? _

I snicker at her.  _ Okay, okay. You got me, in that I know… A little about it, and some stuff about conversions from a long, long time ago. So, if I had to guess… About… 26 or 27 in human years? Probably a little older than Kit, on like a literal level, but Fae have stupidly long lives, even compared to witches, so  _ in that sense _ I’m a little and/or a lotta younger than her. _

_ How much younger? _ She asks, her tone… Undecipherable.

_ Well, the average witch lives to be… What, about 900? _

_ Something like that, yeah? _

_ Every fae who was alive when the Fae split from the witches in terms of schools of magic, the very first fae, are still alive; Allowing for the consideration that those remaining are those who didn’t die in a war, a famine, or of some other unnatural cause.  _

_ But that was…  _

_ Thousands of years ago. I know. If the average witch lives to be about 900, I would place the average Fae life expectancy --that is, including accidents and unnatural causes-- around about 2700? _

_ Holy fuck. _

_ Well, we don’t really worship gods anymore, but, yeah. Mind you, that’s effectively the best case scenario, even at the average. We get to control for the worst diseases, the worst crimes, the worst invasions. I doubt I’ll make half of that, having gotten exed so early in my life. I would actually bet Kit outlives me, in the end. _

_ Oh? _ Her voice hitches.

_ Well… Mind you, this is historian Kalypso talking, not average-person, definitely not crazy, Kaly, but my hypothesis is basically that I, lacking in some sort of critical information that would help me survive in this world, am gonna get caught up in something awful at some point. This will lead to a relatively large drop in my life expectancy. Hell, the fact that I got exed at all probably brings me down to something like 1400.  _

_ Well,  _ Aphra hums,  _ At least you’ve got culture references like, ‘Hell,’ in your repoirture. Impressive for someone who’s such a baby. _

“Well,” I say aloud, as I swipe my card through the reader and pop the door open for her, “I guess we’ll see about that. I still don’t really, ‘get,’ sports.”

For the next minute or so, our conversation dies down as we work our way up the flights of stairs, then head eastward towards our respective apartments.

“Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk more, hm?” I hum, as I reach my apartment and quickly unlock the door. Some magic is so fucking useful, you never forget it.

_ I would sure hope so, Kaly. You’re such a fascinating conversation. _

“Shame we didn’t talk much about your time or culture.” I sigh.

_ I, uhm…  _ She coughs for a moment,  _ Don’t you know most of it already? You have to have some ancestors who were around for that! _

“I guess?” I shrug a bit. “Still, the more perspectives you’ve got, the better, right?”

_ Uh huuuuuh. You’re definitely a nerd. _

I laugh, but it dies out pretty quickly. “Hey, Aphra?”

_ Yes, Kalypso? _

“Would you mind bothering Kit for me? Ask her directly if she’d wanna hear me out?”

_ Oh, uh, uhm… S-Sure, I can do that! But, uhm, I’m gonna need a little while to talk to her, to, y’know, catch her up to speed a little bit. It shouldn’t take  _ too _ long, so… Just wait out here? _

“Sure.” I nod, and lean back against the wall opposite Kit’s apartment.

_ Oh. Okay. Uhm. One more question, then? _

“Shoot.” I chuckle, having… Some idea where this is going.

_ Kit usually leaves the door unlocked, so I going to do this whole act to get it open -- Would you just open it instead? _

“And break into a potential new friend’s apartment?” I sigh, leaning forward and ever so wonderfully, deftly, talentedly, turning the handle and popping open the door. “What ever will Kit think of me, now?”

_ Okay, whatever, dork. 15 minutes, at worst! _

And then, she disappears into the studio. 

And my brain falls quiet for the first time in half an hour or so. It’s an odd experience, now that I’ve gone so long without, well, experiencing it. When I lived at home, it was hardly common to go more than an hour without talking to multiple forms of life around you -- From animals, to insects, to plants. So common a spell was that, then, that I still remember each variation of them; Well enough to perform them without… Nope, not gonna think about it. I refuse to give that space in my head anymore.

So, instead, I mostly reflect on the conversation I had with Aphra. I’d like to tell you that I did more than nerd out to the very first person who showed any interest in my past in the last 18 months, but the more and more I think, the more and more that it feels like that’s what the conversation was about, really; Me. Not my apology, not how I regretted doing it, not how I’d never do it again.

But, in a sense, Aphra guided the conversation more than I did. I just… Provided details. Always good at that, I am.

Still…

I’ve been so locked in my thoughts and reflections that, by the time the door pops open and bright, grey eyes peer up at me from almost a foot below, I’m entirely shocked that I’m still standing here. Or that she actually came out here to talk to me. I watch as she, her hair tied back into a messy ponytail, and the rest of her tucked neatly into a pair of jeans and a cute, tan t-shirt about recycling, closes the door behind her, and quickly matches my posture by leaning against it. When her eyes lift, properly, and mine meet hers, I notice that it’s through two sheets of glass. Mine, a bit clunky and square, and hers, fashionable and cute.

I like hers more. Agenda: Glasses shopping.

“Hey, Kalypso.” She murmurs, pulling me away from my own damned brain for all of a millisecond, because even though her tone is  _ far _ away from welcoming, I can’t stop my dumbass brain from absolutely adoring the sound of her saying my name. No one calls me by my name anymore. “What’s up?”

“Uhm…” I swallow uncomfortably, so desperately unable to break my eyes from hers, despite all the seconds I still need to go over this in my head. “I’m… Sure you and Aphra chatted a little bit about our walk here, and… I guess I just… Wanted the chance to apologize, face to face, for casting a spell on you. I’m really, terribly sorry. It will never, ever happen again.”

I haven’t known her long enough, well enough to read the expression that crosses her face. I can’t even start to give you an estimation of what it might possibly mean. Eventually, in something of a hum, she says, “Not for that the spell went wrong?”

“That too.” I nod, “The whole thing. The spell, that it went wrong, that it affected you the way it did, and that you had to go to such lengths to correct my mistake. I’m sorry.”

Her expression remains unreadable, until it eventually breaks wide open with a large smile, and she steps across the hallway, until her chin is pointed at my chest and her eyes are locked onto mine. 

And goddessdamned does that make me feel stressed. Nervous. Worried.

“Can I… Give you a hug?” She asks.

“What?” I gape, quite appropriately.

“Aphra told me you were a lot more relaxed when you were chatting. You seem really nervous around me, which sucks. So… Can I give you a hug? Can we be, if not friends, a little more friendly?”

“I…” I trail off as soon as I try to start, and end up offering little more than a shrug.

Which, in her utter wisdom, Kit somehow understands to be akin to a yes, and she steps in, turning her head to be as respectful and downright platonic as possible. Still, as her arms wrap easily around my thin frame and she holds herself against me, an unfamiliar warmth uncurls in my chest, and faster than a lightning strike, unfurls throughout my entire body. 

“You look like you’re thinking.” Kit murmurs. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“I was wondering if you’d mind if I hugged you back?”

“Obviously not, you dork.” She laughs, and that warmth in chest increases, the same way a hearth throbs when someone adds a log. 

Wrapping my arms around her feels exactly the same way I dreamt it would, and I settle into it, deeper and deeper, more and more comfortable.

“Well, there ya go!” Kit laughs, “Nice and relaxed now, huh?”

“Like hugging medicine.” I murmur and, then, before I can stop myself, “You’re a splendid little MedKit, y’know?”

Goddesses above -- I love making her laugh so, so much.

“Aphra was right, you are a total nerd.” She smiles, and then carefully steps out of the hug. “I’ve got some more work to get done, back in my apartment.” As she steps back to her apartment, I expect the warmth and comfort to fade away, but it hangs, like the smell of her shampoo. Not the one from the dream.

“Dumb question --” I start.

“Go ahead?” She perks up as she turns around.

“Could I get your phone number?” I smirk.

“Do you even have a phone, Miss Classic Culture?”

I shake my head, “Not even a landline.”

“So why ask?” She laughs.

I shrug. “I heard that’s what you’re supposed to ask when you meet someone... I told you it was a dumb question.”

“Especially dumb because I don’t have a phone, either. Just knock -- I’m usually home.”

“Alright.” I smile.

“Alright.” She smiles. “Well, good night, then?”

“Goodnight, Kit.”

“Night, Kal.” She smiles, making that smile is the last thing I see before her door clicks shut, before I have to step into my own apartment to avoid looking like a lovestruck idiot standing in my own hallway.

Which, for the record, is not any kind of analogy.

My own door clicks shut, and I lean back against it, slowly letting myself slip to the floor in the dark room.

No amount of darkness can blunt this smile.


	5. Kat's Utterly Screwed

When my door clicks shut in front of me, I press my forehead to it and desperately try to control my heartrate. I turn around, spinning like an amusement park ride until I get the ride side against the goddamned door, and quickly drop to my ass on the floor, staring into the dark apartment.

_ So, it went well? _ Aphra purrs, nudging the collar I tossed wildly across the room as I stormed through it, throwing together the best outfit I could. 

“Uh huh.” I murmur.

_ Wanna explain what the fuck the last twenty mintues have actually been about?  _ She adds, staring at me with some kind of affection.  _ It was quite a unexpected show you gave me for my night off. _

“Uhm…” I hum, pushing my shoulders back against the door. “No… No, I really don’t think I want to.”

_ Why not? _

“I…” I glance over my shoulder, and stop talking entirely. I think I might be completely fucked.

_ Oh? _

Totally, idiotically, incomprehensibly,  **utterly screwed.**

_ Are… You okay? Did you hit your head? _

Nope; Think I might’ve dropped my heart though.

_ … To who? _

  1. Kalypso.



_ … Oh. _

Oh.

And I’ve never smiled so hard in my life.

~~~

Even as I wrap the collar back around Aphra’s neck the next morning, those same thoughts are still swimming around in my head; Utterly screwed. I’m totally fucked.

_ Are you still thinking about it? _ Aphra’s voice whispers cooly in my head, and I can’t help but compare it to the warmth of Kit’s chatting from the night before.  _ About h- _

“Yes.” I cut her off, gruffly. “Yes, I am.”

_ I have to say, _ Aphra mueses as I finish latching the collar and stretch back up to my full height over her,  _ I don’t really see what the big deal is. _

“No, you do not have to say,” I correct, pressing my palms against my hips, “And, no, you wouldn’t.”

_ You had one nice conversation with her. About, from the sounds of it, a buncha weird history shit. Why do you think that has to mean anything at all? _

I don’t answer her. I don’t want to answer her, because answering her means thinking about why it means anything to me, at all, that sub-30 minute time period where Kalypso and I could just talk, all relaxed and stuff. And I just don’t want to. Because, really, getting to why on its own would requite a trip straight through the facts and feelings of the evening, and even that doesn’t seem quite so appealing, right this second. Besides, that’s far from the only thing on my mind.

_ Hello? _ Aphra nudges my leg with her cheek.  _ You gonna answer me? _

“Nope.” I sigh, striding past her deeper into the apartment. “No, I am not. Have a nice day out a’running though.”

It’s not until I turn back around at the absence of some snarky reply that I realize she’s already gone, apparating out to some random spot nearby so idiots will keep chasing her down. Gah, I shouldn’t be so negative about them, really; It’s not their fault that they have a generally positive opinion of me, so my mom’s spell works absolute wonders on them. 

Exasperated, I shuffle over and collapse into my computer chair, which is none too pleased by my actions. However, it is a chair. 

I wouldn’t be in such a weird mood if not for last night. 

I can’t even pinpoint the moment where it hit me!

I remember laughing to myself as a man in an oversized robot costume chased me around his back yard, as members of his family stood around and looked mortified by his display. I definitely noticed, if ever so briefly, someone who I thought might be Kal across the street; Except Kal doesn’t usually dress in business suits, not when I see her. Even if she did, it wouldn’t help with how anxious she is. 

I remember the door of a cop car slamming, and the man in his own yard losing interest in me as he became the interest of someone with quite a bit of power over him. As I scurried over the wall into the next yard, I scanned the street again, wondering if I’d see her, and puzzling over what my reaction might be when I did. Genuinely, I had no idea how I felt, or how I would feel, when I saw her for the first time since I learned her name.

I felt a lot of things. Relief; It had been a long time since I’d seen her. Anger; She had, accidentally or not, fucked with my head, my memory, my sense of self. Surprise; She looked good dressed up all business like, with her hair tied back and slipped over one shoulder. A bit of dismay;  _ Gods _ , she looked  _ really good _ . Outrage; That she would make me feel this way after the shit thing she did to me. Anger, again; That I would let myself feel this way after the shit thing she did to me.

For a long while, she just sat there, munching on whatever flavor of yogurt or ice cream she bought. I think this is, maybe, the first time I’ve ever seen her with any food at all. I’ve never seen her carrying groceries or takeout into her apartment, she’s never come over offering up cookies or something else she baked, which is probably a big part of why I haven’t just decided to try claiming her on my own, really.

So, for the same long while that she spends trying to pretend like she’s interested in the goop she’s mechanically scooping into her mouth, past her soft --  _ Christ, Kit. Even when your eyes were this good, you weren’t so creepy. _ While Kalypso eats with the interest of a kindergarten served broccoli and watches the commotion across the street, I pull my best starker impression and watch her eat. 

More than a few times, between bites, I notice her checking the mood of the people around her, watching to see if their interest has turned away from the conversation happening across the street. Whenever she thinks it has, she gets a little more careful about checking in on what’s happening, but the potential arrest always has her main attraction, even over the yogurt she’s supposedly enjoying. Very fae of her -- I think?

It’s only after she’s dumped out what was left of her yogurt --or quickly slopping ice cream-- and put the container on the car that her eyes fall onto me. It’s a marvel to me that it takes so long, given I’m a bright orange cat by a deep green tree bush, and a scant 20 feet away from where her focus has been. Once our eyes are locked, though, they stay locked. 

I still haven’t settled on an emotion to be feeling, right then. When she pushed a thought into my mind, a new feeling prickles in my chest, and I physically feel myself recoil from it.  _ That _ one seems wrong, seems incongruous with the rest, seems… Odd, to be putting in place with her. So I push it away, and nod her over. Just from watching her eagerness, from watching how her eyes remain locked onto me for as much of the trip as they can, that feeling perks up again. I shove it down again. 

She talks, I listen. The feeling crops up again, and I frown at her more than I mean to as I try to process everything going through my brain at once; The way she walks, the things she says, the apparent readiness with which she opens up her apology. Maybe it’s right then, maybe all the anger and displeasure I’ve been feeling towards her evaporates right at that moment. 

As much as I’m sure she’d hate to hear this, all of it is replaced by a deep, heartfelt pity for her.

The word that comes to mind when I think of that first little speech is not apology. It’s not regret. It’s not forgiveness. Those are all things she was trying to get across or find for herself. They were all there. But the one word that encompasses everything that happened in those dripping minutes is desperation. Desperation to be understood, to get across that she made a mistake, that she hated having done it, and that she wouldn’t do it again. Desperation to make amends somehow, in the best way she could, because she was too ashamed of herself to actually look me in the eye and apologize before she at least got some real, high-stake practice in. I mean, the tears didn’t help.

I should’ve let her walk away, more probably than not. Should’ve just clamped down on that connection, that understanding, and killed it before it started affecting my thinking. Maybe, just maybe, I could still be mad at her now. 

Instead, I launched myself off of my little perch and chased her down the entire block she’d made in the 20-odd seconds it took for me to make up my mind. And, gods might’ve actually cursed me, because just behind the thought that her legs are stupidly long is the idea that they’d be really fun to climb up; I don’t mean as a cat.

I only really meant to throw her a lifeline. I didn’t really understand, right then, the depths to which she might’ve needed one, I just wanted her to at least feel like she could forgive herself, that’s all. I mean, I didn’t spend six months torturing her about this, no, she did that to herself. That… Honestly feels like enough. I really just meant to toss her the line.

I didn’t mean to wrap it around myself and jump into the water after her, the way I absolutely ended up doing. 

If you got our conversation from just her side of things, you probably heard so many details. Details about culture this, details about wars that. Don’t you mistake me for missing out on those details either, mind, but I’m a little more interested in all the things I didn’t hear from her; She mentioned so many, many, many surface-level things about herself, about the culture she grew up in. Taken in a certain way, you probably came away with the impression that Fae society, the colony they all live together in, is picture perfect.

They’ve more or less solved some major crimes. They’ve more or less managed to equalize things socially. Everyone’s banded together to protect themselves from a cruel, outside world.

And yet, this person, this wonderful, dorky woman who’s clearly trying to do her best? She’s out here. They kicked her out into what they all must be taught is an inescapable death sentence. They, put between the rock of helping her out of whatever hole she dug, and it must’ve been a tall, tall hole, and the hard place of risking that this would be the excommunicated Fae that came back to wreck their entire civilization, went with the latter.

You might decide to trust the Fae here; To think that, for a culture that values the group over the individual, they must be right. That her actions must’ve been so heinous and outwardly destructive that it only made sense to give her the boot, to save the colony from her. 

I don’t trust the people who I assume made the choice to kick her out. I wondered, although I didn’t dare push harder after she thoroughly shut down the topic of conversation right form the start, if the people who were chosen to lead had the best interest of the group at heart. Did the Fae have some kind of election? Did they just allow the people who knew you the best to make the call on your excommunication?

What’s the process? Was there a process?

For people who were so understanding to the mistaken who are often deemed the worst of the worst criminals, for people who cared enough about the rights of an individual child to not have its body massively diluted, for people who had wars among their individual factions that never, even with the excomms from before, made their way into the popular culture of the rest of the non-human world because they were just that close-knit, what the hell could this woman, all on her own, have done that so massively endangered the colony?

Your logic could say, ‘Well, Kit,  _ something! _ ’ but mine says, ‘Well, nothing. They overreacted.’

And I heard the pain of that overreaction, myself, because sometimes the best way to get to know someone is to give them the room to just talk about what they care about.

She’s good at hiding it, I’d wager. If, and only if, you’re not well-versed in those smaller hints, you might’ve missed it. She brought up so many  _ details _ , and yet, she carefully avoided so many others. She talked about the school system there and, where most historians might rush to add their person opinion or experience, or toss in a personal anecdote, you would practically have to tear one of those out of Kalypso. Hell, the best I  _ sort of _ got from her was that her parents didn’t tell her whether she’d been altered before birth, and even that, I had to get via implication.

So many of the most important things that I got from that conversation were peer inference; When I asked her if her society had been loving, she didn’t commit  _ at all _ to the idea, instead pivoting to talk about how it  _ could _ be strict. I ask, ‘How old are you?’ and she talked about the calenders and life spans. I asked her how she, or any fairy, could survive while being less than the twigly shape she maintains even now, and she refused to talk about anything personal, at all.

Generalities; The self’s worst nightmare.

I guess I could count the fact that she shared her idea of how long she might live, assuming the best, but she even went out of her way to clarify that, well, y’know, that’s impersonal historian Kalypso talking!

I don’t mean that mockingly, and I hope you don’t take it as such.

The thing is, though, that that was all actually fascinating and interesting conversation. Even as dry as some could have made it, Kaly talked about it with an actual fire, an actual interest and stake in it all. She talked about it with a kind of  _ longing _ . Homesick is probably a good word for it, except for the fact that she probably can’t go home again. Ever. 

When you give someone the room to talk about what they care about, they’ll draw a venn diagram in their head, and go on to talk about what they think is the intersection of the things that people around them will want to hear, the things they feel comfortable and happy to share, and the things that they care about. 

I learned, among other things, that Kalypso desperately misses her home. I learned that she fits in best as a member of a group, and now she isn’t one. I learned that they taught her just one way to live, as a member of a group or family, and now she lives alone. I learned that she’s now experiencing the harshest punishment a fae can be given; They teach you, from birth, how to breath, and then drown you in the ocean.

Humans don’t do well in isolation; They’re social creatures who crave contact. Such that one of the most cruel and inhumane punishments, the one you force upon those you truly want to permanently damage, is solitary confinement. Total isolation. Depending on where they’re born and raised, but especially here in the US, they’re taught to be strong for themselves and work it out themselves, and solitary confinement is still the worst thing they can do to the violent offenders and criminals who break their laws.

Fae must do even worse. Instead of being social creatures craving contact, they’re taught that contact is the way to live their lives. That contact is their water and air and everything they need to live. That creates a strong society, but for those who lag, or fall behind, and aren’t caught back up in the social safety net that the colony casts, or those who make a mistake that’s too severe in the eyes of a select, important few, it just gives them the rope to hang themselves with. It certainly gave Kit the rope, that’s undeniable.

Then, there’s the fact that I’m lying to her. Pretty actively, arguably.

Okay, so it’s not like Kaly is here in my apartment, and I’m trying to create some bullshit affect where Aphra’s pretending to be me and I, her, but honestly, if I’m not careful --or, preferablly, fucking honest-- then it doesn’t take a goddamned genetic magician to figure out how this whole thing could end up there lickety fucking split.

I wanted to tell her last night. When she wanted to know more about Aphra’s time, even though I’m sure some of the Fae Elders from back home have told her plenty, I deflected the best I could in place of explaining how I’d lied to her all night. Actually, the fae elder thing might have been how I deflected, now that I think about it.

And  _ then _ , suddenly-stubborn moralist that she evidently is, she made it a point to try apologizing to me right then. Which certainly complicated my usual plan of just making sure the coast was clear before transforming back into myself and just strolling into my apartment; Especially since I’d basically woken up and took my pajamas right from bed out into the world with me when I changed my form. I got lucky on the front that the clothes --in the place of fur, I guess?-- absorbed most of my sweat, so I didn’t smell that terrible once Kit let me into my own apartment, and I stormed about trying to make myself look and smell presentable.

At least I got to give her that hug.

_ Fuck, _ she deserved that hug so much.

Nope, I still don’t know where the fuck it happened. I assume it must’ve been somewhere between getting the apology at the start and the hug at the end; Good thing that only leaves me with the  _ entire conversation _ to comb over  _ again _ trying to figure out where my mood fully flipped; Not from just anger to pity, but from pity to downright enjoyment of her presence. Of  _ her _ . 

But the answer is simple: Just commit to platonicacy. 

I push myself back a little too far in my chair, preparing to unleash a deep, tummy-propelled groan, and instead yip like a lil puppy when the chair, in apparent revenge for my rough-sitting earlier, tips over backwards, dumping me on my shoulders and bouncing my head like a small, non-orange basketball, and giving me an instant headache.

“Oooowwww.” I groan.

_ Katia?! Katia!  _ Aphra is suddenly sitting on my chest.  _ Are you okay? _

“Yeah,” I grumble, “Just a clutz.”

_ Well… Be less of that! _ She frowns at me, gently batting my cheek with her paw.  _ Will you be okay? _

“I’ll be fine, just gotta take some ibuprofen or something.”

_ Okay! _ And like shut a poof in the wind, she’s gone again. 

I glance around for a moment before yanking my glasses off and rubbing my eyes, adding with no commitment at all, “Okay, bye, have a wonderful time.”

Then, I let out that long groan. A headache, some heartache, now I just need a stomachache and I’ll have a little triforce of, ‘fuck you,’ all to myself. 

_ A hug would be really nice right now. A hug from Kaly would be even better. _

And now the heartache is as strong as the headache. Nice. Very nice and cool and normal.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!” I groan again, this time at least bothering to use some of the relenting of tension in my chest to carelessly roll to the side, scrapping my hip against office chair armrest, and earning myself another stupid spot of pain. 

I have just the perfect amount of time to land on my knees and think, ‘ _ At least I put my glasses back on _ ,’ before I tuck my chin just a little too much, and gravity steals the fucking things from me. They don’t leave my sight. I can tell exactly where they fall.

I stare at them. They’re glasses, so they don’t stare back.

As I scoop them up and shove them back onto my face, and shift myself so I’m sitting on my calves. This is one of those moments in life where the universe is  _ clearly _ trying to tell you something, so you need to shut the fuck up and listen. Headache, heartache, thighache, and now just general lifeache, too. 

My plans for today had included, mostly, sitting around trying to further crack the essence to object connection. 

This is the universe telling me  _ not to do that _ today. So, I’ll listen. Sadly. Which means that, at some point, soonish, I have to figure out something else to do today.

But, first, medication!

I could, but I won’t bore you with a histories on why mass produced medication is more effective for certain things, ala headaches, than magical cures. In the end, it boils down the fact that tylenol and ibuprofen are basically magic anyway.

Magic which I don’t appear to have, as my eyes stroll through my medication cabinet, adjusting my glasses a few times as though that will mystically make the bottles of pain-yeeter exist, here and now. 

Agenda: Go to the store?

Feeling: Ugggggggggggh. Don’t make me go out today. 

The reality is, as just glancing through my cabinets will tell you, that I do need to go to the store, pretty badly. Running low on food, on drinkable water, on disposable shit. 

Gods, but wouldn’t it be really nice to get some painkillers first?

Oh, right!

I’m not exactly dressed for it right that moment, in a pair of tiny shorts and a too-big t-shirt, but I reassure myself that she and I will both be fine, and quickly march my pained ass across my apartment, out the door, and to Kaly’s door, where I dutifully knock a few times, and wait.

Then I knock again.

Wait again.

And, finally, I remember that some people actually like to have jobs and shit, prompting them to leave their homes for long sections of the day. Kaly happens to be included in that, even as I contribute thousands of dollars a month to artificial inflation.

So, I march back into my own apartment, everything about me still throbbing a little bit, and quickly whip my pajamas off.

I end up digging up the same jeans I panic-wore last night, alongside some new underwear and a blouse, before running a brush through my hair and brushing my teeth. Just like that, and almost forgetting some socks, and I feel like I’m pretty much ready to go!

Go all the way down to the store on the corner of the block because I can’t be assed to go  _ real _ shopping right now. Enough food to get me through to the end of the week, some painkillers, a lil bit of toilet paper and some paper towels, and what more could you need to avoid doing anything which might thusly require doing real work?

I have to fight hard to avoid replying to myself, ‘Just order delivery for the rest of the week!’ so I don’t take the the thought as a serious suggestion. 

Suburban Boston is starting to get warmer and warmer by the day, and for the first time in the last eternity or two, the sun is shining when I step out into the spring(ish) air, like a reminder that universe was very against me doing magic, and any attempts to be lazy out here so I can have more time (for magic) inside would be very unappreciated.

The walk to the corner store is quick, as it is just on the corner. As far as I know, the little Market Place has been there ever since this block was constructed, necessarily changing it’s inventory and stock as needed to keep up with the times. That it’s employees a family of functionally immortal sunlight-vampires the entire time is, for it, a blessing. Hard to go out of business during plagues and the like, y’know? And most humans are too busy shopping to notice the family exists, so -- Double win!

I see Kalypso the second I step into the store. It’s not terribly populated at this time of the day, so it wouldn’t be hard to see her anyway, but she’s leaning against the counter, dressed in another suit that makes me think of climbing again --not mountains or trees, just in case anyone was confused-- leaning casually on one arm while her head’s turned, chin tucked into her shoulder, absolutely scowling down the aisles as a young man, I’d guess about 19 years old, strolls about the aisles collecting a variety of necessities. 

“I just don’t know what to do with him. I feel like I can’t get it through his thick skull that --” She’s saying as the door softly whooses closed behind me, the usual bell not going off, prompting me to peak up and see if it’s still there. Seems so. Either way, by the time I lower my chin back down, Kaly is throwing a smile my way that has to be a couple million watts strong. She straightens up, cooing, “Hey! Fancy meeting you here!” 

“At this store. Near where we live, you giant?” I laugh, “Imagine that?” 

“I don’t need to imagine it.” Kaly smiles, but this time it’s far, far stronger, orders of magnitudes of watts stronger than the first one I got. Her eyes crinkle, I swear to you that her cheeks dimple, and she looks genuinely, so stupendously happy -- To see me. “I can see you just fine.”

“What are you doing here?” I follow up with, to keep myself from saying or doing anything stupid. “I thought you were doing the whole… Fasting… Thing?”

“Oh, there’s no one else here right now,” She shrugs, “Just you, me, Diego,” she pauses to wave to the young person behind the counter, then barely slides her pupils to the side of her eye to indicate the kid in the aisle, “and Legolas.” I watch the corner of her lip twitch before she chuckles, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before; A vampire, a fairy, a witch, and an elf all walk into a grocery store --”

“And three of them had no time for limericks?” Diego chuckles, interrupting the aforementioned Fae.

“Well, y’know, aside from the witch.” I shrug.

“It wasn’t going to be a limerick!” Kaly pouts, or tries to through her smile. “Either way, you can just be frank, Kit.”

“Right; What are you doing here, I thought you didn’t eat? A Fae thing.”

“Aye!” She cheers, not that Diego looks particularly impressed, “Except on occasion. I’m here helping Legolas shop for, ‘regular human things.’”

“I’m assuming you’re the vampire?” I raise my eyebrows at Diego, who nods their head. “Which makes Legolas…?”

Kaly just nods, as solemn as if she had just lost a pet frog.

“But doesn’t he realize…?”

Now, she just slowly, sadly shrugs. “One would assume so, since I try to slap him in the face with that perspective every single day.” 

“And it’s really, sincerely not getting through to him?” Diego intercedes, or I guess, continues the conversation they were having with Kalypso before I butted in.

“It doesn’t seem to be.” She frowns. “I’ve tried to talk to him, I’ve tried to show him some good YouTube videoes by other expat elves living among humans who all suggest not having pop-culture references to other elves as your name, and I’ve tried showing him reference videoes to what humans who are Fogged from seeing your true features do when certain names are suggested to them; Names they recognize as elvish get the ears, names they recognize as dwarvish get the chin, Fae-sounding names --”

“What popular fairies are there besides, like, Tinkerbell?”

Kaly carries on with barely a shrug, “-- check for wings, and vampiric names --more like Romanian names-- check for teeth.”

“What about witch names?” I ask, and catch Diego cringe outta the corner of my eye. Turning to them, I almost pout, “What?”

“I really,” Kalypso butts in, “Don’t think you want to hear the answer to that.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” I ask, and she has the gall to chuckle a little before she nods. “Well, I wanna know anyway.”

“Alright,” she sighs, “But remember, this isn’t my fault,” she tosses a sideways grin towards Diego, “Nor will I be blamed for any damages caused as a result.” Then, before I can respond to the allegation that I would destroy a store because I didn’t like how humans have stereotyped my people, Kalypso meets my eyes from a scant few feet away and says, “Witch names get a chest check.”

And once I’m done taking in a few deep, calming breaths, I turn back toward Diego and ask them, “Hey, were’s your medicine? Tylenol, ibuprofen?”

Since they’re a bit too busy holding back laughter at my reaction, which I will later admit was kinda funny but currently am not in a joking mood about, they point down an aisle across the store to their right, and I do my best to walk,  _ not storm _ , past Kalypso, who’s at least doing a decent job at holding back some of her mirth over my reaction.

“Oh, excuse me!” Legolas, who looks more like an exaggeration of an elf than actual elf, cheers, then marches past me with a shopping cart full of, as far as I can tell, completely random shit. 

As I’m pouring over the various types of tylenol I can poison my liver with, I can clearly here Kalypso popping over to stand beside me, not leaning and not holding back any laughter. “You okay?” She murmurs, far further under her breath than earlier.

“Oh, I’m fine!” I literally wave her off.

“Pain killers?” She asks. “Not really a common need for you, right? I -- That is, if you don’t mind my asking.”

Finally, as was inevitable, I give in with a big sigh, “No, I’m really fine. I hit my head earlier and I’ve been a little more prone to headaches since I fucked with my brain.” Then, before she can open her mouth, I add, “Which was not your fault. I did that. Me. I didn’t have to, but I did. S’on me.”

Given she has to pull back from the sentence before it, it’s remarkable for the woman in front of me, who just yesterday didn’t know how to answer the question, ‘Can I hug you?’ manages to pull up with another response in just a few seconds, “If you’re sure. I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to help?”

She does that a lot, I gather; Helps. Still, color me crazy or desperate, I don’t think she’s offering to help me for the same reasons she helps Legolas. And I don’t think she’s getting paid for that, either, honestly. 

You don’t have to tell me that I shouldn’t answer the way I do with the thoughts I’ve been having lately, and the uncertainty I feel about what all of that could lead to.

Witches fucking suck at commitment. 

“Can I have a hug?”

Warmth, security, and happiness. All in her arms.


	6. Kaly's Nobel Hatred of Hide and Seek

I love how she feels in my arms.

She’s warm and small, and wrapped up in me, she feels more like a gift of strength and steadiness than I could have ever imagined. The same feeling from the night before, the same feeling that hit me like a lightning strike, hit me now, just as fast as ever, and just as comforting.

“Feeling any better?” I murmur towards her head.

“A little, yeah.” She whispers, her arms still wrapped tightly around me, too. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she pauses to force down a swallow, “It’s been a bit of a hard day.”

_ It’s really early for that,  _ I think, squeezing her a little tighter. “Days like that always start shitty, but… At least they can still end well? Did you maybe wanna talk about what’s gotcha down?”

She sighs against my chest, and nearly mumbles, “I wish this had waited until later, too, I really do… I don’t know, Kal, There’s some of it that I just… Can’t talk to you about. Just… A little too personal. The other stuff…?” She shrugs. “I could give it a shot, yeah?”

I squeeze her a little bit, tinging my words with not a little smile, “I tend to be a pretty good listener.” 

“Not last night,” she laughs, very softly. “At least, according to Aphra.”

“A one-off,” I suggest. “So, what’s up? What’s gotcha down that I might be able to help with?”

She takes a deep breath against me, and I can’t help but wonder what she smells; What do I smell like to her? What does she want me to smell like? Grass, sleep? A meadow? I hope I smell wonderful to her. 

As Kit’s taking her time relaxing, for the moment, Legolas is making another sweep of the store and, as he draws nearer, I catch him start to say something. He’s not a total idiot, though, so the second he catches the javelin-sharp look I toss him, he quickly decides that the cart might be making too much noise and, instead, ditches it to go trawling through some of the tighter aisles. 

“I have to leave town for a few days.” Kit finally sighs, and it’s definitely not the words I was hoping to hear. “I can’t say for sure how long, but… No more than a week, I hope. Fewer days if I’m luckier than usual.”

“I assume Aphra will be going with you?” I hum, but Kit shakes her head.

“Nope. No familiars allowed.” And now she and I are both frowning.

“Alright, what witchy shit are you leaving town for? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t,” she murmurs, “Probably won’t ever mind.” Then, a moment later, quite a bit louder, she grouses, “A fucking… Coven Convent.”

I begin to open my mouth, but quickly close it as she continues, picking up speed quite quickly. “A Coven Convent is basically just the coven deciding to randomly get together and have tea and crumpets, or whatever. Everyone gets a few minutes allotted to them to speak about any practices of the craft they’ve improved, but about 95% of them just gossip about their partners or their kids, the other 4% haven’t made any significant progress! It’s effectively fucking pointless to go, but I fucking have to because if I don’t, my mother will let them declare me dead, and then someone else fucking takes my spot!”

When I’m more certain that she’s wrapped up, I squeeze her again and rock a little bit side to side. “Okay.” I hum, “Can I ask a few questions?”

She squeezes me back, and even sighs a little, but the best indication I get that I can is that she makes what could be considered a micro-nod; Fast enough that if I’d inhaled I’d have missed her doing it. 

“Awesome~ Thank you.” I smile at her, feeling almost giddy as she inclines her head to meet my eyes. “So, just two, but I imagine there’s a lot to each answer; First, I imagine that you are a member of the remaining 1% who consistently makes some progress between each Coven Con, and I wanted to say that that makes me very impressed. Consistent progress with magic isn’t that simple to accomplish. Second, I’m totally ignorant of this so forgive me if this is a bit crude, but what’s so naturally important about your spot in the coven?”

She repeats her micro-nod, adorably biting her lip while she thinks. “Well, thank you for the praise, Kaly. To specify, one coven originally consisted of 7 members; That was just how many witches there happened to be when the first North American one formed a few thousand years ago in what’s Cuba, today. My mom would know what, if anything, it was called pre-Columbus shittcannery, but it used to be mostly inhabited by a people known now as the Taino. Again, though, that’s before my knowledge. I think, in Europe, it was 13. That might just be a popular myth, though.” She shrugs. “Either way, we go by the number 7, here. My mom and I are members of the same coven, and our coven is apart of a larger coven, made up of 14 smaller covens. You might ask, ‘Well, Kit, why not come up with a different name for the combination of all the covens, or vice versa?’ and the answer is I dunno, s’prolly dumb, though. Ultimately, there are 98 spots in the larger coven, and the second one of those spots open up, the 90 or so witches who have kids just a few days, or a few minutes, younger than me are ready and waiting to slot them in, since it goes via seniority, all the way from the top.”

I nod and decide to just wait and see if she has anything more to add.

“You’re probably wondering,” she picks up almost a minute later. “Why does a single coven spot matter so much? And, if there are another 180 members-in-waiting, why not create smaller, more localized covens to improve overall membership and connection? And the answer to that is the same answer to why I don’t need a job anymore. Legally speaking, my spot in the coven  _ is _ my job. Ages and ages ago, by a kind soul who I only know by the name Gram, convinced the other witches that the best way to outdo the other covens in the country would be to have the most senior 14 members pay a certain tax based on their income, that would then get divided among the remaining 84 members evenly, to allow them more freedom for research. Back then, that meant that the poorest members could get, like, a grand a month from the richest of the coven without crashing the economy.

“Effectively, as the senior members have benefited from the hard work of the rest of us, we’ve still seen results for ourselves. Not on the same level, but enough to avoid, for instance, a modern-day Witch Trials. The result is that, since I entered the coven late last year, my monthly income hovers around $4 thousand a month.”

You don’t blame me for rearing back, right? I don’t break the hug, at all! I just lean back! That’s not bad, right? That I didn’t wanna break the hug just for some demonstration of surprise?

“I know, I know. Why do I live in a shitty apartment then?” She sighs, “Well, my income fluctuates sort of naturally as those 14 witches, who we shorthand as The 14, see fluctuations in what their various enterprises, companies, and politicians can net them in a given quarter. Next month, for all I know, I could only get a thousand from them for all of my efforts. I guess, on that level, you could see these as a sort of staff meeting. For 93 members, they’re senior enough that the coven as a whole would feel scandalous if they voted to remove them. For the other 4, well, they have parents who give a shit about them and wouldn’t let them get yeeted. For me, I only have me, and I have to make sure I get enough shit done to get my membership renewed. Which means traveling, instead of working.”

It takes me a minute to think of anything to say but, in my defense, it would take you a moment to think of anything to say in the face of a pout that cute, too. 

“That’s a… Lot of pressure.” I hum. “Wow. I hope you have some non-magic hobbies that you can ditch some stress on.”

“I, uhm…” I don’t need her to say it; I know from the look in her eyes, the side-to-side bolting, that she probably doesn’t. Or, if she does, then she’s not comfortable enough to share them with me. Hug me in the middle of a random store? Sure. Tell me embarrassing shit about her, anywhere? Nah.

“Hey, don’t make yourself more stressed over trying to destress, not right now. How about this: If you want, I’ll keep an eye on your apartment and mail while you’re gone? Any plants you’ve got, I’ll water them appropriately? Does Aphra like cat food, like a weirdo, or some kind of fish? I can make that for her if you’d like. Anything you need to be done in there, that you’re comfortable with me doing, I’ll be happy to do.”

The sigh she lets out against me is… So oddly comforting. “I don’t really need anything in particular done, but I suppose you can make sure Aphra keeps her body fed. She forgets sometimes; Even if I set up a spell to make her some kind of baked fish three times a day.” She squeezes me, before finally pulling away. “I don’t know about stress, necessarily, but thank you, Kaly, for offering at all.”

My Goddess, that fucking smile. She throws it around like it’s nothing, but it’s so, so pretty. “I’m happy to help, Kit, in any way I can.”

“Hey!” Legolas shouts, “Do humans normally buy toilet paper for origami purposes? It works great.”

Kit almost falls over laughing and she’s just barely able to get out, “Any way you can, right?” 

~~~

_ I have to say, _ I type,  _ this is about as weird as I expected it to be. _

_ What, _ Kit writes back a few minutes later, have you  _ never sent a text in your entire life? _

It’s not her fault, really. I never told either her or Aphra, who could’ve told her, that my life out here only started just over a year and a half ago. Or, if I did, even I don’t remember doing it. Still, it sits with me just a little oddly, and I slip my brand new, touch-screen cell phone back into my bag as I keep walking towards today’s first appointment; Lenard G. O’Las (Suggestion #147).

It doesn’t sit that poorly with me for all that long, though. Within all of five minutes, I’m shrugging my bag upwards across the ocean of fabric that today’s absolutely gorgeous weather has brought out, and slipping my phone right back out.

_ The colony didn’t really need cell phones, or landline phones, for that matter. We figured out electrical generation on a public scale shortly before the end of the last of the Just Wars, and as we were rebuilding our cities, we implemented it into the infrastructure with ease. Including our own versions of telegraphs, phones almost immediately thereafter, and computers by the end of what would have been the Human West’s 1950, if my math is right. What we called Lay Phonics because they tapped into ancient lay lines, naturally, are probably as close as you’d get to a cell phone, first came out in what would’ve been 1955. By the time I was born (An unsure date in roughly August of 1993, for the curious =P), CommTech had moved forward to a device that used a combination of spells and technology to cling to the side of your head, roughly about your forehead. It could play your voice mails directly into your head and hijacked your visual nerves to show you any text message you received without needing a screen. It was called the Neurological Communications and Fae Line Phonic. Everyone I knew just called it a NeruoPhonic or a NeruoComm, depending mostly on which one took longer for your friends to come up with puns about.  _

Then, a moment after I hit send, I frown at the length of the message, and send another message along,  _ Sorry about the size of that one! _

_ It’s fine! _ Kit’s reply comes back just a moment or two later,  _ I really enjoy reading your nerdiest stuff! Oh, and good use on the emoticon, too! _

No, I don’t feel unreasonably pleased by this. Just the normal amount of pleased. 

_ Aw, thanks~ How’s the trip going? _

My phone almost makes it back into my bag before it buzzes again, and I’m pulling it out while absently stepping out of the way of a jogger headed in the opposite direction of me.

_ Long and boring. At least my mom’s on a different car. Still think she should be locked in a luggage bin instead of sitting out here with a bunch of humans, but at least she’s not that near to me. We’re about half-way through Connecticut, so I think that means we’ve about another 60 to 90 mins or so? My phone can’t decide which is more accurate. _

Someday, I decide, I’ll have to meet her mythical monster mom. 

_ Alright, well, I’m about to step in with Femur Zero Woman,  _ (suggestion #134),  _ so I’ll be quiet for anywhere from 5 mins to 2 hrs, depending on how this goes. Wish me luck! And try to have fun in the city, even if you hate the convention! _

The reply is so instantaneous that I fail to even close the application before she sends,  _ It is more likely for my mother to fit through the eye of a needle… Actually, shit, she could probably do that. _

_ L o l! I did say, ‘try!’ Talk to you later today! _

I’m still giggling to myself as I step into Legolas’s apartment building, bypassing the wait for him to remember that we have a scheduled appointment, thanks to a man who was on his way to a shift at a local sandwich shop. Either that or, somewhat less likely, he just really likes Super Clucking on Sundays. 

Have you ever traveled up five flights of stairs while wearing an airy, light blue dress? It feels incredibly fun but manages to actually be a massive pain in the ass!

After I reach the fifth floor, I take a left turn, heading down to the middle of the corridor, before taking a moment to pat everything down. Everything in place, bag on my shoulder, and wishing I’d worn a hat of some kind because it was far windier than I expected, I raise my hand and give my best imitation of a polite knock.

_ I’m sure he’ll come to the door soon? _ Kit’s most recent message to me reads.

Almost 10 minutes later, I knock one final time, a frown entrenched on my face and my last ounce of politeness well dead, and,  _ finally _ , sounds of life escape from within the apartment, proving again that all that the rumors of dumbasses’ demises are oft exaggerated by their specialists, who occasionally want to hasten that demise. 

“Oh, hey!” Legolas greets me at the door, a big smile on his face, red marks over his ears, and eyes more bloodshot than the sheet a hunter might lay over the prey he’s just shot dead. “Uh, what’s up?”

Oddly enough, he’s not high at all. Maybe it’d be better if he had been.

“We,” I grumble, “have an appointment today, Legolas.”

“Mr. Legolas!” He attempts to correct, a huge grin on his face. “Sorry, I forgot. Eternal’s out today.”

I pause in my tracts and, not dissimilar a wolf in the forest who’s just heard her prey step on a twig, I turn back to Legolas, “ _ Doom _ Eternal?”

“Yeah.” He nods, “came out today.”

_ Fuck! How did I miss that? _

“I dunno.” He shrugs, “You seem like a busy lady, probs hard to keep track of stuff like that.”

“Shit, did I say that first thing out loud?”

“Yup.”

I can’t help but keep frowning now. “Well… We still have an appointment.”

Legolas is far, far from an idiot. “Well… I have another controller. Wanna have the appointment over some demon murdering?”

Dare I say that we’re about to find out how far we can get when God doesn’t rest on the seventh day?

~~~

_ Hey, how’d the rest of your traveling go?  _ I send, shivering as I march through the dark.

_ Fine! Made it to the hotel after my mother decided to camp out with a friend. Went out and got some Chinese food, did a little window shopping last week. How’d the meeting with Legolas go?  _ Kit replies a few minutes later, and the smile that breaks on my face shakes even as it blossoms.

_ Really well! I didn’t manage to talk him out of Legolas just yet, but I think I got him pretty close to considering another, at least! _

_ Really? What’d you suggest? _

_ Doomguy. _

_ Hold up, what? _

~~~

Oh, shit, what time is it?

When I finally blink hard a few times in a row and, for the first time in a few hours, glance away from my television screen, I realize I’ve been gaming for about three hours now. As much as I don’t want to stop shooting things in the face --very cathartic that-- it’s time to be an adult and get some work done. 

Which, right now, means pulling myself off of my bed, where I was gaming from, and crawling --in a less than literal way-- out of my pajamas for the first time since I rose with the sun this morning.

By now, I’ve managed to work my way through most of the files that Gothel gave me both a few weeks and the ones she left for me on Friday; Most of them needed very little more than an email or two to confirm that their details were fine and they should be set to really get started with their new lives. Really, Guy Doom (suggestion #152), was the only one with a significant enough issue to warrant any in-person visits. Now that I feel like he’s on a much, much better track, I’ll probably pull it back a little bit, unless he somehow randomly drops  _ again _ .

Right now, however, I drop my pants and rip off my tank top, and climb into a different, less silky tank top, and a pair of jeans and head into my bathroom to start pushing a brush through my day-old hair really quickly. After a few minutes, wrongly feeling like I didn’t just crawl out of bed, I give myself a big stretch and roll my shoulders before I step backward out of my bathroom and make the long, slow consideration about whether or not I want to put shoes on over the socks I picked out. 

Five minutes later, sans-shoes, I step out of my apartment with Kit’s key in my hand and make the handful of steps across the hallway. A moment later, still finding the door un-cursed after a few days, I step into Kit’s apartment for the 6th time in my life. So far, two times a day per day, for the three days that Kit’s been away.

It looks exactly the same as it did on Friday and Saturday, and now that I’ve been in here a few times, I’m not even mildly tempted to go looking around for its own sake.

Instead, the only reason I’m going around and looking is that I haven’t seen Aphra once since Kit left for New York with her mom on Friday. Similarly, I didn’t see Gothel at her bar when I visited on Friday night, which is… Maybe a literal first.

I got to spend ten minutes explaining that the milk in the jar in the fridge under the bar was for me, instead of spending that time trying to get settled into some new files that Gothel’d left. Right around then, I realized that Gothel and Kit must be in the same coven, thus the shouting match that night. Feeling annoyed might leave a bad review then feel bad and delete, I don’t know.

No, I didn’t leave a bad review, so I didn’t have one to delete.

It’s a quick sweep, given her apartment is laid out just like mine but in reverse, and hers is even more sparsely furnished than mine. Where she has just her bed, her chair, and a coffee table, I’ve got a television stand, a coffee table, a small couch, my bed, and a side table. My bed’s a size bigger, too.

After having lived here for over 7 months, the only conclusion I can reach about her sparsity of furniture in here is that she’s really, deeply worried about the idea that she could randomly be forced to leave based on her coven membership. 

In that speedy search, I find not one single detail pointing to Aphra’s presence here in the last few days. The bed’s still made, the fish from yesterday are still sitting on the plate where I left them late last night. Just like the last two day’s worth of magically baked fish.

I let out a soft, deep sigh, and stride back out of the apartment, locking the door with the key from the outside (now that I don’t remember the spell for unlocking shit perfectly enough to do it sans wa- NO, no headspace for that! Stop that). 

As I walk back through my apartment, I scoop up my phone just inside the door and bump it closed via hip, before locking it without glancing back

_ Hey, Kit, have you seen Aphra in New York at all? _

~~~

I have to say, I really thought that this whole, ‘Helping Kit out,’ thing would involve… Just a little more helping. 

As in, I stand in the doorway leading into her apartment for the fifth day in a row, alone as ever. After the third day, I stopped letting the fish sit out at all, and by now I’m checking Kit’s apartment close to hourly, unsure where her familiar has disappeared to for the last week. 

Suddenly, my asscheek buzzes, almost making me jump out of my skin. I can only imagine how close to killing me that might’ve come if I didn’t realize it was phone almost immediately.

_ Have you found her yet?  _ Kit’s message explodes out from my phone, pounding into my head like an anvil. I fr -- I should clarify that I don’t mean that literally.

I frown, scrubbing my palms over my face and groaning before I toss her a quick,  _ Not yet. As soon as I do, I’ll text you to let you know. I’m sure she’s fine, Kit. How are you doing in New York? _

_ Bored? Anxious? Both? _ I can almost hear Kit frowning at her screen,  _ The convention is pretty close to being over; I’m up sometime later today or tomorrow, and then after me there are just a handful of people left. We have a few motions to vote on, nothing major suggested yet and nothing major coming up. I should be back by Friday, Thursday night if I’m lucky? _

If we’re both lucky. I sigh, turning my back and closing the door behind me, having relocked it while the door was still open.

As I lift my foot to take my first step, my chin tilted towards the ceiling as I try to manage my headache, a soft meow directly in front of me almost brings my head into contact with the cieling, and I roughly slam my shoulder against the door behind me. Sitting in front of me is a fluffy, clean-looking, unharmed orange tabby.

My chest still heaving, the hand clutching the key pressed against my chest, I stare down at the cat and, in a near whisper, press, “Aphra?” forward into her mind.

_ Yes. _ She replies immediately,  _ What were you doing in our apartment? _

I can’t help but frown at her, with a heaping side dish of squinting, “I was just doing what Kit asked me to?” I manage to remove the slapped-on hand from my chest and dangle the key above her so she can see it. “Kit left it here so I could pop in and remind you to eat. Then you weren’t here for a few days, so she’s been a bit worried about you.”

Now, it’s my turn to get eyed up. As though she doesn’t trust me, the orange tabby slowly tilts her head to the left, peering at the closed door behind me.  _ Is she? I haven’t seen her inside. _

I close my eyes and try my best not to roll them; This damned guardian  _ has _ been here several times this week.

_ Yes, _ Aphra replies to the thought I didn’t send her,  _ which means that you decided to worry her, during a very important coven meeting, over effectively nothing. Great job, solid work. _

I have to press my lips together to stop myself from having too negative a reaction to her, just now; Guardian spirits when they think they’re projecting their charge’s life, I swear.

“I really was just peeking in to check and see if you were here so I could report back --”

_ Always about reporting back with you Fae, isn’t it. _ Aphra hums.

I can’t help but do a double-take, now. “I… Excuse me?”

_ Oh, I don’t mean anything bad by it, please don’t mistake me! It’s just that, in my experience with Fae, you only ever seem to have loyalty to yourselves. _

“Oh? In your experience?” I murmur, my eyebrows drawing together. “What, exactly, is _your experience_ , Aphra?”

_ What, do you want a story or something? _ Aphra nearly hisses at me.  _ Fine, here’s the story. I risked my life for some Fae a few hundred years ago, and almost found an early grave because of it. Did I ever get a thank you? Did I ever get anything for saving them? Or, did I get an official reprimand from my coven because that handful of Fae ran right back to their leader, whatever you called them, I don’t know, who went right to the head of my coven? Who then, oh, removed me from my seat in said coven for my heroic actions? _

“Oh, ple-”

_ Oh, please! _ Aphra hisses with utter rage now.  _ Do you really think I don’t have hundreds of stories like that? You believe that I didn’t have friends who had hundreds of stories like that? You Fae, growing up so close and so… So indoctrinated. You really all believe it, don’t you, that the way the world works is, ‘Do nice shit, get nice shit!’? No, the world gives you horse shit for everything you do, good or bad. Sure, we all do good things so we can feel better about ourselves, but you morons actually seem to think that doing good will grant you good things? Look at me! I did nice things during my life, and all I got was this stupid cat skin! Kharma morons, all of you. _

I blow out a steadying breath, despite the deepening frown on my face. A memory reminds me that responding only escalates the situ --

_ And as if that were all -- A little adversity comes your way, and what do you all do? You run away!  _ You let them excommunicate you! _ Gizal let them pull her away from me! And your entire race ran away from the rest of us because a few awful witches murder two dozen dumbasses who thought their magic would be stronger if they were smaller? Pathetic. _

My head whips back so hard and fast that my glasses almost fall off and, finally, I’ve had enough. “Goddess, Aphra!” I half-shout, stepping around her and marching into my apartment, following up with a good slamming of the door behind me.

_ Hey, I found your cat. _ I type out before I can stop myself. 

_ Oh, thank fuck! Is she okay? No shithead wizard got to her, did they? _

_ I don’t know and, honestly, I don’t know that I give a shit. The fucking things she just said to me! Just… Gross. She seemed fine, if suddenly super fucking racist. I hope you have a good rest of your trip. I won’t be bothering her again. _

After I hit send on that, I come so, so close to throwing my phone on the floor and figuring out if I can still cast successful crack-open spells. If not, I wager, then I’ll just find out all the ways I can fuck them up. But I come off of it after a moment, and shove my palms against my eyes.

10.

Minus 2: 8.

Minus 3: 5. 

Minus 3: 2. 

Minus 2: 0. 

Assess; How are you feeling? 

_ Alone. Angry. Upset. Sad. Homesick. _

Reassess; How are these feelings affecting your body?

_ Elevated pulse. Heavy breathing. Crying. Shaking. Desire to break things. _

Evaluate; Do you enjoy having these feelings?

_ No. _

Re-evaluate; Does having these feelings help the colony?

_ No. _

Conclusion?

_ Having these feelings does not help anyone. Express them as needed, without harming anyone or thing, and then do my best to move on from them. They are not productive for the colony, or for anyone in it, or for myself. I am apart of a team, I am important, and I am wanted here. I should be worthy of these things. I should be a good person. I should be the most effective contributor here. _

Check: Breathing slowing. 

_ I can be worthy of those things. I  _ am _ worthy of those things. _

Check: Pulse lowering.

_ I can be a good person. I  _ am _ a good person. _

Check: Tears stopping.

_ I can be the most valuable contributor here. _

Check: Body steadying.

_ I  _ am _ the most effective contribu-- _

Somewhere in the hallway, a door slams shut, mere moments before heavy feet hit the stairwell, running downwards. A moment later, the sound has already faded, but my eyes have been open just long enough.

I stand in the expanse of my apartment. The bare, cold walls echo dull peach into the rest of the space. My bed sits empty, unmade from where I slept in it. There’s a bare nightstand on the distant end of it. My couch and television stand behind me, turned slightly out of place so they don’t fit properly in the corner. Somewhere in the kitchen is a microwave that’s sat empty for months.

I try to force the words out.

I try to make them happen.

“I  **am** the most effec --”

My echo interrupts me. 

I crumble to the floor, sobbing.


	7. Kati's Strange Souls

I am going to murder that fucking cat.

Nevermind that she’s functionally immortal and it would take so much effort and skill to kill her at this point, I am going to rip her fucking essence out of her fucking skin and bury it in pig shit, I swear to god.

Since Tuesday night, Kalypso has returned approximately none of my texts. I asked her what dumb shit Aphra had sprouted, I asked her if she was okay, I asked her this, and that, and everything I possibly could. I tried to call her and got sent right to voicemail. I spent most of the rest of the convention boiling with rage at Aphra, frustrated with what she might’ve ruined for me.

That fucking hug in the convenience store, stupidly long and disgustingly mushy as it was, makes for the single best hug I’ve ever gotten. Never once has someone offered to listen to my shit while hugging me and being  _ my _ rock! She was willing to do that for me. She offers to watch and make sure my familiar doesn’t do anything dumb, and my familiar turns that around and insults her!

On Wednesday, I gave my little update speech, detailing my numerous close attempts at managing to  _ safely _ connect my essence with an item of relative unimportance. As with all witchcraft, a solid amount of my work is based on feeling and sensation and, in this instance, I feel like I’m close to a breakthrough -- Such that I manage to stupidly proclaim that I  _ will _ bring results to the Coven Convention they decide to hold next season.

Which, if I don’t, is as good as promising my seat to whoever wants it the next time one of these rolls around. I wouldn’t be surprised if they announce the next date within a week, just to try to fuck with me. 

Late on Thursday, we vote on a number of boring, unimportant motions that I mostly tune out of, and finally, after a week of utter boredom in New York City, I get to get on a train on Friday morning, heading home.

The train ride isn’t much better.

The whole first hour, when what I really want to do is pop my contacts out and put my glasses back on, my mother decides that we should go over what all the other witches in our coven spoke about, about how their partners are doing, about how their lives are. Not so we can fawn over their happiness, but so she can actively suggest ways we might be able to screw their happiness over if they ever started making overtures at fucking with us. It’s just another great opportunity, one that my mother would never pass up, to try to tell me how to wreck someone’s entire life for trying to step on my heel. 

On the other hand, I think, as she finally hauls herself out of her coach chair in my entirely empty car, my mother genuinely wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain to her that, right now, Aphra deeply insulted the woman I really, really like, and she hasn’t spoken to me in the three days since it happened. She’d probably try to make a point like, ‘Well, darling, if that girl can’t stand being deeply, directly insulted by someone with a close, personal connection to you, over things she herself can’t control or have any mitigating effect on, then perhaps she isn’t  _ good enough for you! _ ’ 

Who. The. Fuck. Cares.

WHO THE FUCK CARES? I’m not looking for, ‘Good enough,’ I’m not searching for the perfect match, I just… I like this girl, that one who lives right across the hall, and I wish I had the courage to just walk up to her door and explain this dumb, convoluted mess, and kiss the shit out of her. Just wrap my arms around her neck and --

FUCKING APHRA!

Great, I managed to make myself angry over something my mom may or may not have even said to me.

Hours into the ride, my mom has retreated back to her car, satisfied that she’s done the standard amount of corrupting, perhaps convinced that she’s not going to get anything else into my mind for now. I’m alone in my little section, and I waste the minutes away by staring out the window, waiting.

As soon as the train crosses Massachusetts state lines, roughly 77 miles from home, I start pounding on her conscious; APHRA! APHRAAAA! APHRA! YOU GODSDAMNED --

_ What?  _ She purrs, popping up next to me. 

The second I see her, I scoop my hands into the scruff of her neck and haul her upwards. Without a second thought, I start whisper shouting at her, “You absolutely infuriating, little --”

_ Little what? _ Aphra feigns a yawn more obvious than a male pornstar’s muscles.  _ I just want to try to be a little bit clearer about what you’re viciously insulting me over, is all. _

“What --” I stop short, remembering I don’t need to shout aloud to get this across.  _ WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY TO HER? _

_ Say to who? _ Aphra stares at me.  _ I mean, which who? I say a lot of -- _

What must be the cold fury of my stare stops her dead, and she sighs.

\--  _ Oh, come off of it, Kit. I’m trying to add some levity to this situation, wherein you’re threatening a cat on a public train. _

If she’s trying to get me to lay off, she may as well through herself under the wheels, post haste.  _ What did you say to her, Aphra. _

Now, the little shit rolls her eyes,  _ All I said to her was… I don’t remember everything, and I don’t know what finally landed, okay? I said a lot of bullshit. Stuff about how Fae are all the same, all indoctrinated, how they always run from responsibility, and how they ran from adversity the moment some of their weird, shrinking friends got murdered by a couple of assholes. _

Would that throw Kaly towards a catatonic stupor? Nope. Probably just raw anger. 

I squint at her and pull her nice and close to me.  _ Aphra. Last chance. What did you fucking say to her? _

For a long breath, she stares back into my eyes, trying to judge what I might be about to do to her, how much it might hurt, and if it would actually do any real damage to her.

Then, finally, she murmurs,  _ I told her that she let herself  _ get _ excommunicated. I blamed her isolation on herself. Not subtly, either. _

I drop my familiar unceremoniously to the floor and flop back against the bench. “Holy fucking christ, Aphra.”

_ Oh, don’t blame this on me! _ says my evidently perfect familiar.  _ I didn’t say anything all that bad, and I wasn’t doing anything selfish! Kal would actually agree with me! I was just trying to chase her away from you so you could refocus on your studies, studies that will better everyone’s lives! You’ve been slipping and unfocused ever since you realized she had messed with your brain! For the betterment of -- _

I’m not… Necessarily proud of my next moments.

Alone in the compartment and pretty certain that no one will catch me in the act, I spring out of my chair, over Aphra, and into the aisle. In one, unbroken motion, I dig my fist into her scruff again and haul her up, dragging her out into the aisle with me.

_ Ack, Katia! What the hells are you -- _

Hand parallel to the material at 90 degrees. Fingers compressed, before spreading slowly. Quickly make a fist.

The window beside my chair shatters and following its imminent demise, against all the wind pouring in, I swing my left arm forward, releasing Aphra at its apex. She twists and turns her big, green, outraged eyes to meet mine for but a moment as she flies through the air, out the window.

Hand, parallel at 180 degrees to the space, with fingers closed together. Twist into the 90-degree position while spreading your fingers.

Between the two of us, the window twists and shoots back into place, broken and fully repaired in the space of a single yawn.

Then, Aphra drops out of sight.

I drop back into my seat, still feeling just as angry and unfulfilled as I did all of two minutes ago before we made it into Massachusetts. 

None of that, none of that whatsoever, made me any less pissed off at Aphra.

None of it, not one square second of it, made me feel better or less outraged at the things she said to Kaly.

None of it made any, justifiable, sense to me, and an explanation like that is probably not going to fly with the hurt party, anyhow.

But my blood’s pumping, sweat’s pouring down my brow like Niagara, and at least now it feels like my rage has done  _ something _ here.

Unable to feel like I’ve done enough, I inhale, close my eyes and grip the edges of my chair. On the exhale, I let loose a long, solid, “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” and then drop my forehead against the chair in front of me.

I’m not properly aware of the actual effect until a hand curls around my shoulder, and my eyes pop open to a train car that’s rattling on the tracks, with each and every window cracked. 

Still half-gasping and full of hate, I turn hot, wet, angry eyes upwards and find them absolutely steamrolled by the kindest, most understanding version of my mother’s sharp, minty green eyes that I’ve ever seen. Her curly, shoulder-length brown hair, down loose earlier, is now bound back into a ponytail, and her fancy, light, detailed day dress has been replaced by a softer, cooler, and more plain evening gown.

Without taking her eyes off of mine, my mother exhales ever so softly through her nose, and very gently drags her hand from the front to the back of the car in a steady arch. Along the trail, the tips her fingers glow, and by the time her eyes break from mine so she can guide her feet past me, floating into the seat beside me, there’s not a single imperfection left in a single window.

“So.” She hums, as she settles in beside me, turning towards me.

“No.” I shun, quietly turning away from her.

“Oh, no? It’s no, is it?” She guffaws. “My daughter’s train car, which I helped procure solo for her so she could have some space, mind you, starts to rattle and shake like someone is attacking her in it, so I rush back here and find her in the middle of a good, scream of a cry, which I fully support when you’re not in public, and… It’s no?”

I grunt, “It’s no,” and turn more fully away from her.

I can hear her rolling her eyes in her next words, “Darling, you can either continue trying to shut me out or --”

Now, I spin back towards her, almost launching myself forward as I spew some of my rages her way, “Or… What, mom? You’ll force me to?”

She stares me dead in the eye, from inches away, and sighs, “No, darling. Or you’re going to explode.”

Way to take the wind out of my sails. 

I drop back into my chair, giving both of us a little more breathing room, and sigh, “Why are you even bothering?” 

Trying to match my posture, I guess, my mom leans back into her seat, too, but she’s frowning, “Of course I’m bothering. After all, you just threw a living being out a window, and I haven’t gotten you to do that after decades of effort. Whatever --”

Whatever she says, it goes right through my brain, unprocessed and uncared about.

I threw something out of a window. A being. A creature. A shitty, rude asshole of a creature, but I  _ know _ that she experienced that pain even though it couldn’t kill her, or even really harm her. I  _ wanted _ her to feel it. I… 

“Take your time, Katianna,” My mom smiles at me, “It’s always a little rough, realizing you have something like that inside of you. As a part of who you are.”

… Feel sick.

“Now, do you want to talk about what made you that angry, or not?” She continues, a few moments later, fractions of a second after my shoulders drop -- Along with my self-esteem.

“Why bother?” I grumble, resisting the urge to pull my knees up to my chest.

“So you can talk about them without the people involved getting hurt by how you feel?” My mom pushes. “How about this, if it will make you feel better? I’ll lay out for you what I hope you’ll take away from this experience, today --” the train hits a light bump, interrupting her for a moment, “-- so that you will know what lens to put over my advice. I will not lie to you, I promise.”

Witches and promises. Witches and promises. Witches and promises. 

“Fine,” I say, doing my damnedest to try not to huff or pout.

“Fine,” she nods, “What I want you to get out of this is that you can harness that anger and emotion you were feeling into much more powerful spells. I want you to realize, even if nothing else comes from whatever this experience is, that you are an exceptionally powerful witch with unlimited potential. Shackling yourself to human perception of morality in the way you have is only going to hold you back from realizing that. To boil it down, a little bit; You are a witch, you ought to start acting like it.”

I let the air hang uninterrupted for a moment or so, thinking about what she said.

“And, now, would you please share with me what you’re dealing with.”

I’m sure that, with my chin still tucked a little, the look I give her ends up coming off as a little more of a scowl than intended. I don’t correct myself. “Alright, fine.”

I don’t start speaking immediately, however, so she decides the air’s been too unbothered, “Well, whenever you’re ready.”

Uh huh.

“So, there’s a woman in my apartment building --”

“There are several, I’m sure.” My mother doesn’t actually say, but I can see it in her expression.

“-- who may have tried casting a memory spell on me.” This makes her actually scowl  _ at me _ , “Oh, you know exactly why I didn’t tell you. Anyway, it didn’t go as she planned, and ended up erasing just her name from my consciousness. After a weird few months, I figured it out, and --”

This time, she does interrupt me, “You removed it yourself.”

My turn to scowl at her, “How did you --”

“You looked quite debilitated when I visited you, at your familiar’s behest,” she says, simply, “I assume you found the manifestation and began to extract it, then tripped up on a complicated emotion or thought, and accidentally caused it to reverberate itself out of existence somewhere near your optic nerve.”

“Of course you visited,” I groan.

“You might be dead if I hadn’t,” she scowls. “After all, without me, some of your vital organs very well might have remained damaged beyond what your instincts could repair while you were half-dead. Please, continue to see me only as a heartless monster. You might ruin my image if you don’t. Well, don’t just stare at me, continue on about this woman.”

I swallow, hard, and decide I lack any better recourse but to just keep on. “Alright. Well, I removed it, one way or the other. After that, I talked to her… A lot… And, I guess I ended up kind of liking her? I just… Do.”

She sighs at this.

“What?” I challenge, not sure how to read the short exhale.

“Oh, nothing, darling. Nothing serious, at least,” she waves. “Go on.”

“This is where Aphra comes in, I guess. I told her, the woman, about the Coven Convention and --”

“Hm.” Her eyebrows pop. “I just assumed she was a member.”

“Oh, no,” I shake my head, “She’s Fae. Anyhow --”

My mother says nothing. She doesn’t need to for me to catch the expression on her face; Her eyes alone scream  _ something _ , even if I’m not exactly privy to it.

~~~

Something along the line of 55 miles away, a young ex-Fae has curled her long, blond hair, thrown on some crappy make-up, and now she’s staring into her bathroom mirror trying to get herself to leave her apartment, for the first time in days, for an appointment that she’s already running late for. One that she only scheduled to force herself out of the house.

~~~

“-- I told her about it, explained that I was a bit stressed about it,” I continue, even though now my mom’s rolling her eyes and wanting to say, ‘you’re always stressed about it!’ Fucking mom. “And she offered to look after anything in the apartment that I might need, you know, as long as I was comfortable with it. Well, do you remember how Aphra sometimes forgets that she needs food?”

“Being dead for a few centuries will do that to you.” My mom finally can’t stop herself from interrupting with nonsense and, to top it off, a little racism, “How do you know that you can trust this Fae?”

“Mom!” I’ll have dreams for the rest of my life about what it feels like to slam my palm against her cheek, just really let her have a good, hard slap.

“Oh, please, I’m not saying that because she’s Fae! I’m just saying that because she’s a stranger who already tried to fuck with your memory, how do you know --”

“Because she apologized. Meaningfully, even, hm?” I hum, “And nothing she’s done in almost six months since has meant any harm to me.”

“Do you even know her real name?” She pushes and, with the benefit of hindsight, I wish I’d been smart enough to shut the fuck up.

“Kalypso!” I proclaim, almost effectively unprompted.

~~~

When she notices smoke starting to billow upwards behind her, she whirls, immediately confused by the lack of fire in her apartment, until she feels the heat on her back.

At which point, she launches herself into her shower, already thinking about canceling that working appointment to schedule an emergency meeting with her stylist.

~~~

“Well, that’s a cute name.” My mother answers, a bit more cooly than I expected. 

I pop my eyebrows at her, so very satisfied to have won a single moment of conversation with her. “Anyway, I really like her and…” My satisfaction quickly turns to frustration, again, “And Aphra said some genuinely horrible things. Things that Kaly --”

“Kaly?” Her eyebrows flash upward, again.

“-- Kalypso, it’s just short for Kalypso, mom. Please, let me talk. Things that Kaly, with her background in nerdy history, knows far more about than Aphra does, given she wasn’t alive for them.”

“Well, if  _ this _ Kalypso girl can’t handle some general historical jabs --”

I jump faster than I would if I were trying to dodge a spell, already explaining “Mom, Kalypso got excommunicated for something. If you’d listened to her talk about it, like I did, then you’d know that it tears her up, constantly. Their whole society values being together, like, being a member of the community so, so much, and whatever she did, she regrets it. She misses her home. Aphra basically put the whole blame of it on Kal’s shoulders.” I sigh, letting myself rest for a moment post-explosion.

“Isn’t Aphra right?” My mother asks. When I stiffen back up, all ready to scream, my mother holds up her hand, “Now, I’m not saying, by any means, that Aphra wasn’t being rude or a bit racist. I don’t know well enough to judge that. What I mean to be expressing is… Whatever your friend did, whatever got her removed by her own people, is Aphra not correct that that was squarely Kalypso’s fault?”

I sink back into my chair, exhaling sharply, “I don’t know. When I asked her about it, she said she was young, dumb, and desperate, the perfect trifecta for making the worst mistakes possible; That she was just trying to make things right again. Beyond that, I don’t know anything. I wanted to try to ask her again about ex-communication, about who makes the choice to try to kick someone out, about who ultimately decides the fates of those who are charged with crimes, because I don’t think that I can make any judgment about her being out here instead of in there without knowing more. Now, I don’t know if I’ll get the chance.”

“Well,” my mom gives me a genuine smile, “that answers my next question.”

“Which was going to be what, exactly?” I don’t return it.

“Whether or not you believed that her being sentenced to permanent expulsion should affect whether you have any relationship with her or not.” My mom shrugs, as though that sentence held the same weight as one like, ‘Whether we should play checkers!’

“Well… There.” I grind, raising my hands to push the palms against my eyes.

“And now,” my mother, acting rather more like a stage magician for a moment, presents, “the part where I give you advice.”

“Yay.”

“Firstly, take out those contacts, they’re clearly bothering you.” Genius level stuff. “But, more importantly, if you like Kalypso so much, as it seems you do, and Kalypso likes you as much as you seem to think she might, then you’re going to have to do something very terrible and hard and scarring: Apologize to her. Take a bit of the responsibility for what your familiar did, and say you’re sorry. Make it clear enough that you are apologetic and, as you did to her, I’m sure she’ll talk to you again.”

“Hmph.” I bristle, “I was really expecting something more like, ‘You should cast a spell on her that makes her think she had kids and then make her think they died,’ or something.”

“That was my first thought, but I figured you wouldn’t go for it.” She smiles. “Too pure.”

“Or, maybe,” I smile back, “You’d suggest I set her clothes on fire.”

“Well, now,” her smile grows, “that would be dangerous in your current state. We wouldn’t want you trying to cast a spell and end up pulling the energy out of yourself, like a  _ wizard _ , would we? You’d mess with your ability to eventually outlive me.”

“No, I suppose not.” I maintain my smile, as she steadily glides out of the chair, and into the aisle. Just as she’s a few feet away, I call out to her, “Hey, mom?”

“Yes?” She turns, her smile still in place. “What is it, Katianna?”

“I just wanted to remind you, in case you’d forgotten --”

“Forgotten what, darling?” Her smile ends up in the waste pile, as a frown takes over. For a moment, she thinks she’s gotten it, and her smile returns, however briefly, “Ah, yes, you prefer Kit, isn’t it? Well, as soon as you stop calling someone who looks five years older than you, ‘mom,’ and call me by my name, as I’ve asked, I’ll --”

“No,” I cut her off, holding an evergreen smile, “I still have Dad’s tie. I’m still going to find out what happened.”

Her eyes, moments ago more reminiscent of feathers, turn to bricks. “I really,  _ really _ don’t recommend that you do.”

“And I  _ really _ ,  _ really _ …” I sneer, “Don’t plan on calling you, ‘Gothel.’”

For a moment, she stares back at me, her cheek twitching ever so slightly, before she turns, and finishes making her way off of the car, back to her first class denial.

Not that coach denial is much better.

~~~

I don’t see my mother when we disembark the train, and I feel all the better for it. It was, actually, a bit nice to have someone to talk to about the whole mess that erupted while we were gone. Not that any solution for actually getting Kaly to talk to me again so I can apologize arose. Still, though, I feel somewhat better.

Given it manages not to be raining, windy, or too hot, I decide that myself and my single bag can endure the hour-plus walk home through the winding, crowded streets of Boston, like an idiot. Still, in the last week or so I’ve not gotten nearly enough time outside, or exercising, or doing anything non-coven related.

My feet hurt a little bit by the time I get to the block my building’s on, even though I took a little extra time to grab a sandwich for lunch, rest, and listen to gossip from people who supposedly have the same accent that I do, but whom I can barely understand. I imagine that I would feel the same way I always feel when I get home from Coven bullshit, if not for the woman who lives across the hall from me, and the hit she must’ve taken  _ because of me _ .

When I slip into the apartment parking lot, my eyes immediately scan for signs of life from Kalypso’s apartment windows. From the curtains, I get little more than a reminder than she likes grey crap. As I get nearer and nearer the building, my eyes end up falling upon a woman standing outside the eastern-most entrance, staring at the little call-up box and checking it against a piece of paper in her hand.

At first, nothing stands out about her, other than what she’s doing. The closer I get, the more she draws my eye, though I can’t say for sure exactly why.

She’s wearing an impressive, airy, cream dress, one that drops to mid-thigh, with a slit down the back, over a pair of black tights that she’s tucked into some cute, tan boots. Based on the black shawl that’s draped over her left arm, she thought it’d be a little cooler out, an idea supported by her loose, flowing blond hair. And, as I get closer, I’m fairly impressed to realize she’s nearly shorter than I am.

“Something up with the buzzer?” I ask as I draw closer, an action that has the exact same effect I think it will. 

The woman nearly has a heart attack, whirling on me at the same time as she reaches for something tucked under the shawl. For a moment, we stand like that, with her clearly ready for something, and me, trying to look like I’m not. After a moment of my  _ not _ attacking her, however, she sighs, and says, “Didn’t hear you coming.”

“Agoraphobia?” I ask.

“Something like that, yes. I’m a bit jumpy out here.” She replies, giving me a better take of her voice; High pitched and entirely tone-deaf. 

“Are you okay?” I ask again, not yet ready to abandon the conversation, even as she’s decided to turn her back on me. “If you’re trying to get into the building to visit someone --”

She whirls around on me again, “That is none of your business! What I am doing is what  _ I _ am doing!” Gods, she looks frantic.

Contrary to what I want to do, very badly, which involves running away, I lean in a little bit, and start saying, “Look, if you’re in dan-”

But, I’m stopped cold as something small, hard, and in her control, presses against my throat. 

“If you do not leave me be --” well, she knows how to sound serious, “-- then I will make you.”

Staying as still as I can, I reply, “I’m just trying to help.”

“And why should I trust that, hm?” She questions, her eyes shooting side to side.

On one of those glances, I take my moment, dropping back and thrusting my flat palm upward, just under her hand, easily propelling the object in it directly upwards. Hand flat, palm down. Inverted come-hither. Twist.

“Because,” I breathe hard, not a little winded, “I’m not a human, so I understand how important this wand is for you.” I hold it out to her, “and I’m giving it back anyway.”

She barely twitches an eyebrow, and it easily flies out of my hand, back under her shawl. Her eyes trail me, up and down, a frown etching itself across her thin eyebrows. “And a witch will help me how, exactly?”

“I live here. I’ll just let you in.” I sigh. “I really don’t mind.”

“Oh.” She says, “Well. Uhm. Sorry, then. Might I get your name?”

“Kit.” I exhale, as I side-step towards the door, “and I’m not sure what spell you used so you could speak English, but the tone’s all off.”

“Ah, I see.” She frowns, ignoring me as I pull the door open, before continuing, “Does this sound any better?”

I nod, “Very polite.”

“Excellent! Shall we onward, then?”

I blink a few times, weighing my options between trying to teach a proper Tongues spell trans-class or letting it go, and end up just waving her through ahead of me.

“So, who are you? And who are you here to visit today? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Now that we’ve gotten the, ‘Threaten Kit’s life,’ part out of the way, the Fae woman ahead of me is all too happy to answer about half of my questions. “Dione of the Fae, as you already puzzled.”

She does not feel inclined to answer the latter question, however, simply mounting the stairs beside me. 

“Nice to meet you, Dione. Who are you here to visit? I might be able to guide you a bit better if I knew who you were going to see.”

“I do not require guiding, however,” Dione replies over her shoulder just as we hit the second floor, “I possess exactly where she abides, which compartment is hers, and which level it is on.”

“Okay,” I shrug, “Well, would you tell me just because I’m curious?”

She has to think up half of another flight of stairs, nearing the third floor, before she decides, “Oh, fine, if you insist. I’m here to visit my sister, Kayley…” she has to glance down at the piece of paper in her hand to even attempt this Kayley’s last name, “Daughter of Forest? No, wait… O’Foraoise? I think that’s...” as we hit the third floor, she pauses, turning toward me and holding the piece of paper out, with the top half carefully covered. I’d guess it’s a number. “Does this say Kayley Daughter of Forest or Kayley O’Foraoise on it? Which one sounds like an actual human’s last name?”

I only have to give it a brief glance, “O’Foraoise. Bit of a mouthful.”

“And very obtuse!” Dione frowns, “If my spell is translating it so, then surely any human could do alike, and figure out that she’s a F-” now, she bites down hard on her lip, twisting overdramatically to peer around. “A-you-know!”

I shrug, “I wouldn’t worry too hard about that.”

“Well, if you say.” She sighs. “Why have you stopped?”

“I live on this floor,” I answer, less worried that this dolt will come back to haunt me as I am my mother.

Dione squints at me, running through something in her mind, before her face almost pops, “Oh, you must K. Murphy! 304?”

Well, maybe I should reassess.

“Yeah,” I sigh, “That’s me.” 

“Well, then, you must know where my destination lie, you sneak!” she proclaims, turning and heading down my hallway.

“What?” I frown, having to race a little to catch up with her. 

“Well, you must already know which apartment Kayley lives in, it’s so close to yours!” Dione almost cheers, “Only a number away!”

305? Does he have someone living with him?

I want to take a moment to speak directly to you, who’s probably already figured this out, and just say:  _ I know I’m a dumbass.  _ Okay? Okay.

I still haven’t put the pieces together as I pull to a stop at my door, expecting her to march one full length further towards the center of the building, to the door marked, ‘305.’

When she stops and, immediately, knocks on 303, my stomach and my heart become as one, two koi fish swimming in the same pond, mirror images of one another. My mouth must drop open, and I’m sure my bag hits the floor because Dione turns towards the sound and says, “You have dropped your carry, Kit.”

Then, she turns and knocks on Kalypso’s door again.

“Oh,” I say when the words finally reach my fucking brain, “You’re... Kalypso’s sister?”

“I did not think you’d be abreast of her real name!” Dione gasps, before giving me a strong nod, “You two must be great friends! Is she getting along?”

Well…

“I just got back from a trip, so I haven’t seen her in a bit.” I explain, “But last I checked, she was fine?”

“Is she eating?” Dione asks, “Or can she still complete the photosynthesis spell? She quite loved that one, so I would expect as such.”

“I, I’m not really sure?” I stutter, scrapping over her face for every detail I managed to miss; Same little dimple on her chin, high cheekbones, but I’m really, really kicking myself for missing her eyes; The same majority-hazel kaleidoscopes that Kaly herself sports. “Has anyone ever told you and Kal that you two look a lot alike?”

“Well, I am her identical twin! So, yes, quite daily!” She smiles before it drops off and she frowns, “Well, not since they…” 

She shakes her head, turning about and knocking, hard, on Kal’s door.

“Since they ex-communicated her?” I finish for her and watch as Dio’s hand drops mid-swing.

“Yes. Since then.” Dione whispers, her chin following along with her hand. “I bet she hasn’t told you about that, though. Only so many --” whatever word follows there, I can’t even begin to comprehend it, “-- on. The sting must still be so fresh.”

“That, she hasn’t,” I sigh, “I wish she would.”

Dione shrugs, lifting her hand to knock again, “Maybe one day, she’ll speak. I don’t retain much in the way time, and I’ve wasted a good amount of it to this point. I don’t want to open my own wound here, if I did I wouldn’t make it back before... And then...” She sighs, “Actually, I haven’t acquired the time to wait abound, either. When you see Kalypso, next, would you let her know that I miss her?” A tear slips down her cheek, “That we all do?”

“We?” I ask, which gets a watery laugh out of Dio.

“Oh, Goddess Above, I haven’t the time to list out every single name! She’ll understand, I assure you!” She sniffles and casts one last longing look at Kal’s door. “We all miss her, so much.”

“Well… It was nice to meet you, Dione of the Fae.”

“And you, Kit of the Boston.” She nods, slipping her wand out from under the shawl, giving me my first good look at it. In her hand, the light shade of oak contrasts against her darker skin, but even I remember that in my own hand, it just seemed like a stick. In hers, it almost seems to hum or glow, or some ethereal combination of both. “I will try to visit again soon!”

A door slams in the distance.

Dione steps out a bit further into the hallway, turning away from me as she casts a large semi-circle in front of her. I wouldn’t know it if not for the trail it leaves, and I almost fail to notice it entirely, as she extends her arm back, tapping herself on the shoulder, and immediately helping me to understand the slit in the back of her dress. 

Feet slam on the eastern steps.

Her wings are huge -- Four rounded blades, two extending from between her shoulders, and the other extending from closer to the middle of her back, all nearly reaching the sides of the hallway, and all a gorgeous combination of swirls of light, too many distinct colors to note in the few seconds it takes for Dione to extend her wand upward and draw it back down to the floor, shrinking herself in the process.

The steps grow closer and closer.

Hovering in the air at about eye-level with me, were it not that I’d pressed myself back against my door (only to give her space, and certainly not because I didn’t want to accidentally get smacked with manifestations of pure energy), Dione gives me a polite wave before she nearly-silently launches herself through the semi-circle, disappearing beyond it.

The remnants begin to wisp away the moment she’s gone.

“Oh, hey, Kit.”

The voice absolutely guts me.

Dione has been gone for all of three seconds when Kalypso rounds the corner out of the stairwell, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a Green Day t-shirt and -- My jaw drops again.

“I know, I know!” She jokes, “This is not the kind of, ‘Green Day,’ I thought they were when I bought it.” Still smiling, even though her joke fell flat, she reaches her hand up and fluffs the short floof of her hair that’s left at the top, over the much shorter sides and back.

“I must’ve pissed someone off,” she sighs, while I keep staring, “I was getting ready for an appointment about, I dunno, two hours ago? My first time out of the house since that bullshit with Aphra,” she holds her hands up, right away, and says, “Which was not your fault, don’t worry about it. I imagine the second you see her, you’ll tear her apart. Figuratively. Probably. Not that I’d turn down an apology hug, tho.”

She shrugs, chuckling just a little to herself as I just keep staring at her hair, and the way the shorter look has transformed her face. “Feel free to stop gawking. Oh! I got off track! So, I was getting ready, when someone set my hair on fire! So rude! Well, I launch my ass into the shower, ruining my favorite suit and failing to put my frigging hair out, when it just… Stops, for some reason? Crazy shit.”

“Uh huh.” I murmur.

“So I climb back outta the shower and go to cancel that original appointment, only to find out that she canceled on me! Fifteen minutes before I was supposed to meet her! Admittedly, I was going to end up late,” she shrugs, “But that’s hardly the point, you know? It did free me up to go and meet with Micca, my stylist, though! He’s a satyr, so he’s got plenty of experience working with hair -- Although, I guess he just shaves his legs, so that might be a joke he tells, but… I dunno! This was the best we could come up with, after all of the, y’know, the fire? I like it. It feels a lot lighter, but I kinda think I needed a change. I feel really, really good.”

“I’m… I’m really glad for you.”

“You don’t think I look too much like Kristen Stewart in that last movie she did?”

“Charlie’s Angles?” I ask, without any commitment to caring about the answer.

“Right, yes, that one!” She smiles, “It’s not like that’d be a bad thing, looking like her, really, but she’s attached to that Twilight thing from a long time ago, and I don’t wanna create any associations like that.”

“Right, okay, yeah…” I blink a few times, “Why did you dye it orange?”

She shrugs, running her hand up and through the long bit, “I just kinda felt like it. Plus, Kristen’s never had orange hair. What d'ya think?”

What do  _ I _ think? I think I’m ready to climb an autumn oak tree or two any time now!

“I like it!” I manage to get out, “It looks really nice. And you look great!”

I earn myself one gold star! I mean, her blush isn’t golden, and it’s not at all obvious, but I’ll take it!

“Ah, thanks!” she smiles. “Hey… Do you maybe wanna go for a walk or something? Just lemme toss my bag in my place, and we could get going?”

I’m just about ready to eagerly agree when I’m slammed back to reality.

Because, of course I am.

“Actually…” I start.

“Oh, you just got home, didn’t you?” She backtracks, “If you’re not up for it, then don’t worry about it! Maybe we can go for one tomorrow? If you want to, of course!”

“You had a visitor while you were gone.” I answer, “I was just talking to her a few minutes ago before you came up.”

She doesn’t quite frown, but her smile drops a little bit as she glances towards the western stare well, “Why’d you let me ramble, then? I might’ve been able to catch up. Did she leave a name?”

“Kal, I…” Hey, Gods? Kindly fuck off. 

“Kit?” She steps closer to me, “Are you okay?”

I look up to those gorgeous, happy eyes of hers, knowing that I’m about to crush her, and unable to stop myself from telling her, unable to hold back, because she deserves to know, now. Not tomorrow, or in a week, now.

I look into her eyes and say, “Dione.”

Kalypso stiffens, and her lips manage to mumble, “Dione?”

I nod. “Of the Fae. She… Snuck out, I guess, to come and see you.”

Of the ten or so most powerful elixirs in the world, the ones that do things like reversing the course of degenerative illnesses, repairing magically damaged tissues and ligaments, and bringing the soul back to the body after an extended period of death, all of them include one single ingredient; That ingredient is the most important and rare -- Especially since the source went into hiding so many centuries ago.

As Kalypso collapses and I do my best to catch her, and gently guide her to the floor so I can properly wrap her up in my arms, I witness, for the first time in my life, the production of the single most powerful, most valuable object in the known magical world. 

I would never trade the sounds her sobbing for even a single fairy’s tear.


	8. Kalypso's Rings Around the Rosey

“Hey, Kalypso!” 

When I glance up from my book, I’m not sure who yelled my name. There’s a group of people huddled together, all around a central figure who, in their hands, is holding a ball that’s about the size of their chest.

“What do you think they want?” I wonder aloud.

“Dunno.” She replies. “Looks kinda dumb, don’t you think?”

“Well, they certainly look like they’re about to be active,” I suggest, “I don’t feel quite like I’ve run enough lately?”

She looks up from her sketchpad and cocks her head as she twirls her utensil. “They have an odd number just now.”

“Oh.” I frown, “Well, crap.” Once I realize it, I wave them off, and they go back to trying to rope in any other person still hanging out here after classes have wrapped for the day.

“Can’t play Marbles with an odd number of players. S’Why they asked for you.”

‘Cause they know that I can flick a marble without accidentally throwing myself into the air?” I tease, and a moment later find myself getting hit by a sketchpad.

“Shut up, Aly!” Dione shouts, but even she’s laughing. “I’ll get it one day, you’ll see!”

“Uh-huh.” I tease, “Just like one day you’ll stop drawing Penny’s picture and go kiss her, instead.”

Yes, I get hit by a sketchbook again. Yes, just as worth it as the first time.

“Tomorrow!” She declares, “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Will you also propose tomorrow? Offer her dad all of your lunch money for the day?” I push a little further.

“Okay, that’s enough, Kaly.” She huffs, and I throw my hands up.

“Well enough. But, seriously, I don’t get it.” I nudge her shoulder. “You like her?”

“I do.” She sighs, swaying slightly to the side, before swinging back and knocking back into me.

“You know she likes you?” I knock back, cooing this time.

“I doooo.” She half-way sings, rolling her eyes as she sways to her right, bouncing back a moment later.

“So why haven’t you asked her ouuuuut?” I bounce back myself, turning at the last second and ending up in my sister’s lap. 

She frowns down at me, and if I weren’t laying on her sketchbook, I bet I’d get smacked again. “I do… Not know, Kal. It’s…” Her lips make a straight line. “I don’t know how to describe it, okay? It’s like… Whenever I try to talk to her about an… ‘Us,’ kind of situation, my tongue doesn’t listen to me?”

“Oh, I know how to describe it! When you’re talking to her, your tongue is to busy thinking of other things it could be doing with her!”

For a moment, Dione simply stares at me.

As it turns out, she decides to get the flick right that day, and I get an overhead view of the courtyard as I sail through the air, laughing the entire way.

As I start to sink back down, I lazily reach my hand out and call my wand to me. A moment later, a tap on my back, and I land safely on the ground. I tuck it into my waistband as I stroll back over to her, plopping onto the bench beside her again.

“Well, there!” I declare.

“Well, what’s there?” Dione asks, more hesitantly than I would if I’d been the flicker in that situation.

“Today’s the day you mastered the flick. Today’s the day you ask Penelope out.”

“Excuse me?”

I slip my wand up and press it to the side of my throat, and easily call, “Hey, Penny! Oney wants to talk to you! D’mind giving her some attention?”

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” Dione chants, as Penelope nods, and quickly leaves her feet, flying over like a moth to a flame.

“You love me, you love me, you love me.” I chant back, filling the space she takes to breathe between each and every declaration.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Penny laughs, as most people do when they come upon us, arguing like this.

“Dione wanted to ask you something! I’ll leave you two alone!” I declare instantly, before Penn’s feet have even hit the ground, and draw the fastest semi-circle you’ve ever seen in your life, diving through it like an absolute champion.

As I come out, in the middle of the quad, I glance over my shoulder in time to see Penelope taking my former seat, and cross my fingers, hoping that, this time, the two idiots will get this conversation right.

When they do, I offer to take Dione out to her favorite ice cream parlor to celebrate.

As was predictable to everyone but the one person who should’ve known better, I also invite my best non-sister friend, Penny, out to her favorite ice cream parlor to celebrate.

Goddess knows if I don’t, they’ll never even have a first date. 

After they have an amazing first date, I get beat up with a sketchbook and a regular book, then hugged by two of my favorite people at once.

As I hug them back, all I can think is that my life, this one, is perfect.

~~~

It’s raining when I wake up. I am soaked. 

It’s dark when I wake up. I am blind.

It’s so, so windy when I wake up.

My first few efforts to push myself to my feet are utterly futile. My body feels like I’ve gotten kicked by a horse, and nothing I do will change that at first. Wearily, I pat around my waist and try to find my wand, to drag the familiar comfort upwards and light the area around me. No luck.

Sighing, I finally manage to stumble my way to my feet and follow that up by struggling to walk until I smack directly into a twig and end up, on my ass, in what feels like grass, again. I sigh through the pain, and reach underneath me to pull the twig I landed on out from under me -- And wrap my hands around the handle of my wand.

With a huff of relief and annoyance, I struggle upward and yank it out from under me, casually casting a light spell. When all that happens is a spark about half-way up the coalition of my essence, I reach up to flick the upper bit and miss it. Frowning, I twirl it around, trying the light spell again, but find that the spark has just moved to the opposite end. 

When I feel the splintered wood, my stomach drops, and my mind whirls.

I broke it.

The single most indestructible object in the universe.

I broke it.

_ Let this serve as your reminder --  _

No.  _ I  _ didn’t. But I remember who did.

I turn, trying to cast my gaze out further, try to take in the area around me. Nothing. Frowning, I make my way to my knees and start feeling around for the other half --oh, fuck, oh, god-- of my wand. Eventually, moments or minutes later, pretty sure I’ve found it, I press the pieces back together and try to cast light again -- For the heartbeats that it works within, I get a screenshot of forest and very little else. 

“Fuck!” I let myself scream into the aether of the drenched forest. 

“Is someone there?!” A voice shouts though I don’t understand until I press my fingers against my head and think _ please. _ The cast works, and a moment later, when they yell, “Is someone there?!” I shout back.

An hour or two later, I’m sitting in a man’s office, dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt which are, evidently, my size.

“So,” the man sniffles, “You don’t remember anything?”

“Yes.” I lie.

“Don’t know how you got out there?” He sighs.

“No.” I lie again.

“Well, that’s a shame.” He huffs. “Do you have anywhere to stay?”

“I, I don’t know.” I stumble.

“Hm… It’s late and stormy. My husband and I have a spare room, how about we let you stay with us for the night, and in the morning, we’ll see if we can’t send you on the way somewhere?”

“That sounds lovely, officer… ugh…” I squint at his nameplate, less than a foot from me, but I can’t make out jack shit.

“Officier Reid.” He answers, “Are you… Miss, can you see?”

“Oh!” I cheer, genuinely remembering something. “No! No, I can’t! I need glasses!” 

He seems to smile at my reaction, and leans to his right, “Near or far?”

“Sorry?” I frown.

“Sighted? Near or farsighted? I’ve got tons in here, just in case someone breaks mine. Then, my colleagues started doing the same and, somehow, God knows how they all started getting mixed up between desks.” Guessing by my blank stare, Officier Reid leans down and pulls out a few pairs. “Why don’t you try all of these on? Whichever seems the most normal, we’ll go with those.”

The third pair I pick up, blocky and square, seem to do the trick -- I can see everything around me, and a few things --like a large, red, white, and blue flag out the window-- and Officer Kee Reid’s nameplate. Before I can even say anything, he smiles, “That’s gotta be them. They look great on you.” Later, I’ll figure out that I disagree with that. “Why don’t we get going?”

Another 45 minutes later, I’ve traded my jeans and t-shirt for another t-shirt, this one massively oversized even on my --I gather-- not tiny frame, and a pair of what Kee calls, ‘basketball,’ shorts. Kee has gone to join his husband in bed once again, and although I don’t know what it means, yet, the clock beside me reads, ‘130,’ with a little red dot next to something that reads, ‘am.’ I assume that must mean, ‘After moonrise,’ and ascribe pm to mean, ‘post moonset.’

I cannot sleep. 

I’ve been lying all fucking night long. I, Kalypso, daughter of Pallas and Asteria, sister to Dione, Metis, Maria, and Nereus, am a dirty, lonely fucking liar. 

I remember how I got here. I remember who I am. I remember every single solitary thing that’s gotten me to this fucking moment. I want to burn every fucking ounce of it from my memory. I want to restart. Reset. Redo.

Instead, I sit in a bed far larger than I alone could ever need, staring at the two broken halves of my wand, and think about history.

Thousands of years ago, witches and fairies practiced magic by the same methods; Manipulation of the space around us, cast by our hands. This method, many noted, had some large drawbacks; Offhanded spells often drew more from the user than the world around us and exhausted those who were not used to doing so, but those who were better adjusted more often fell into the wizard or sorcerer school. Aside from that, it was often incredibly dangerous, as one single misfired neuron could end any life within twenty miles. 

So, a witch named Gaea decided to change it. It’s said that hundreds of people  _ wanted _ to change the system, but none of them could figure out a better method for casting spells than hands. So, they all gave up. Gaea, however, decided from the start that she was going to change it, so she and her coven put their heads together on different things they could try.

And they failed, a lot. Thousands of times, over the course of six centuries. Gaea’s sisters lost their ability to access the earth’s essence, and one by one, they wilted away and finally passed. The last one remaining and, herself beginning to go, Gaea came up with one final idea. She would take it upon herself to draw some of her own essence out and intertwine it with an everyday object; A stick she’d found lying in the road. 

And so, hours before her death, Gaea created what would be the very first wand.

And, after showing the members who’d replaced her original sisters the technique that’d finally let her do it, Gaea passed peacefully into the world, gracefully unaware of the tide she’d just started pushing upwards.

The man who became the head of Gaea’s coven after her passing was named Tellus. Although not quite so revolutionary, Tellus was still an important part of the spread of the wand in terms of popularity, in that he ignored it entirely instead of actively arguing against it, very likely allowing it to spread from within his coven outward. Several members of Gaea’s coven thusly left, becoming the very first Fae. 

They left about… 0 record of why they chose that name, though it’s thought that it came from Scottish or Irish Gaelic, meaning  _ from _ . From witches, we were. 

If you somehow manage to break a stick that’s infused with your essence --an item that’s shown to stand upright in the face of falling boulders-- then there are ways to repair it, of course. Namely, other wands wielded by other Fae. No witch has ever managed to survive connecting their bare essence at all, nevermind to another source of pure essence. You could, theoretically, make a new wand, if you can do in the remainder of your lifetime what Gaea did with hers; Fail a lot. The technique, in modern times, is held by a select few and performed near birth, so that those who are rescinded the privilege cannot easily get around it.

If there are other options, they’re largely lost to time.

As with everything else, there are still more techniques for breaking wands. I used to think that those methods were necessary, that any fairy who was excommunicated would well and truly deserve it. That being able to apply an elixir to weaken the connection between fairy and wand, making them both more vulnerable to snapping, was just another sacrifice we all had to be aware of so that, in the end, we could all be safer. 

How stupid of me.

How wonderfully, endlessly naive of me to truly believe that, in the end, each of the Council a Cúig were allwise and allkind. 

How stupid. How naive. How dumb. How… How… How…

How in the past it all is. 

There’s something to be said for just how motivating a realization like that is. 

I’ll never get to go back home again. My wand is broken, and only five people in the world know where I am now, and I’m not even one of them. My family will… I’ll never see them again. 

I want to cry. I want to get angry. I want to start to tear this room apart; The comfortable bed, the paintings on the wall, the computer on the desk, the desk itself, the -- The computer. I know how to work one of those, still, right? There’s something I can do!

I push myself out of the bed, careful not to disturb my wand, and slowly tilt the ancient device upward. 

And start learning.

By the time the sun strides up over the nearby horizon, I’ve memorized plenty of details to lie straight through the next week. As the first rays break through the window, I slip the slowest computer I’ve ever used closed and roll my shoulders, angry as they are that I’ve been hunched over all night. 

When I notice the beams of the light pouring in, I must stare at them for five minutes before I gain the willpower to stretch my fingers out and dip them into it. Inhale. Exhale. Guide the sun’s energy inward, drink.

It worked. I huff out utter relief and finally slip my glasses off, placing them gently on the desk.

When Kee’s husband, Aaron, wakes me up a few hours later, he asks me if I’d like breakfast.

At breakfast, I quickly figure out that, yes, it’s common for humans to be hungry the day after being found in the woods, so I stuff some of the dead baby chickens into my mouth and swallow them down. I explain to Kee that I remember more today; My name is Kayley O’Foraoise. I live in Boston,” it seems like biggest city that’s just far enough away to never have to see these people again, “and I was visiting Arcadia State Park with my boyfriend. We got in a huge fight the night before, broke up, and he drove away. I started walking back to the park’s main entrance to try and hitchhike to Trenton, when I fell, hit my head, and lost my memory and my bag. After a good night’s sleep, all I need to do is get to Bangor, where I can theoretically procure enough money to hitch a bus back to Boston, where I can chew my ex’s ass out.”

Kee and Aaron are eager to believe me, probably just to get this stranger out of their house, and all three of us pile into Aaron’s, ‘sports car,’ whatever the fuck that is, for the roughly 20-minute ride directly to the greyhound bus terminal, during which time I sit in a leatherbound back seat and panic about the money I’ll theoretically have to raise.

And decide to try something entirely different.

As Kee and Aaron drive away, I ask an attendant if there’s a phone I can use to call a friend. When he says yes, I punch in the numbers 617, what I know to be the Boston area code, and then a bunch of random numbers.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” I cheer, “It’s me, Kayley!”

“Who the hell is Kayley?” The woman replies.

“Uhm… Kayley O’Foraoise? Don’t you remember, we went to --”

“Kayley?” The woman interrupts, “Stand still for a second, would you?”

I freeze, even though I wasn’t really moving before. My stomach jumps.

“Oooh, I see. Is Kayley really your name, daughter of the forest?”

I glance at the attendant. He’s not paying any attention, so I murmur, “No.”

“And you’re not exactly human, right?” She asks.

“Who are you?” I challenge, as quietly as I can. This is not, at all, how I expected my fake, bullshit conversation to make sure Kee and Aaron would keep driving, to go. Should’ve just fully faked it. 

“My name is Gothel. I assume you’ve had a very bad week, so far?”

I swallow, hard. “You could say that?”

“Well, I am. I want you to come to my bar, in Boston, okay? Where are you, just now?”

“Bangor, Maine. In the US.”

“I know where Maine is, kiddo.” She laughs, “You must be near a bus terminal, right?”

“I am.”

“Great. Put the attendant on the phone for a moment, take the ticket he gives you, and then go sit on a bus for a few hours. Boston’s too far for you to fly from, if you still can, but a bus will get you here in about 4 hours. Ask for me at the counter, okay?”

20 minutes later, I ride my first bus down the eastern seaboard of the United States of America, from Bangor to Boston.

The clocks at South Station read 345pm when I step off the last step of the bus, and begin wandering through the station. 

It takes me about an hour and forty minutes to walk from the attendants counter, where I got my directions, to the front door of Gothel’s Ale House, accounting for the 20 minutes worth of wrong turns that I end up making. 

When I step inside, something in my gut slips, and some kind of tension that’s been sitting in my stomach for the last day or so slips away. There are people playing games, dancing, drinking -- Having fun. Relaxing together. This is what I know. Instead of heading for the counter, I dodge my way between people who are singing, people who are wobbling, and people who give me glares of death so intense that I feel like I’m already stepping into a flytrap. 

I pop myself down in a booth in the corner and drink in the scenery around me. I feel like I’m home again.

Until someone spills beer down their frontside, tinging their crotch with booze, and I turn to say, “Well, that’s one way to wet yourself,” to Dione.

Who isn’t there to tell me I’m being ridiculous. Metis isn’t on my other side, ready to tell me off for being too soft with the joke. Nereus isn’t opposite Dione, to tell her that I put in the effort, so they should all laugh to be polite. Maria isn’t there to slap us all across the backs of the heads for being Idiots In Public. 

Mom will never be anywhere again.

In an empty booth, in a bar crowded by all the mirth I could possibly want in a moment, I press my hands up under my glasses, and start to weep. Over the sounds of the music, no one seems to notice, or they pretend not to until one of my wracking sobs shakes my glasses from my head, and they smack into the table’s edge, shattering one of the lenses. I cry quite a bit harder, then, as I mentally add myself to so, so many lists.

Sightless.

Homeless.

Familyless.

Powerless.

So many things that I am now without, so many things that I didn’t have to be without, and yet… Here I am.

A blurry hand steals forward, moving over my glasses. I barely think to yell, “Hey!” at them before they’re pressing the fixed lenses back onto my face.

A woman, maybe a few years older than me, stares back. “So. You’re Fae, then?”

I’m not sure how she knows, and I stutter to come up with something as she moves around the booth and settles herself into it. “I, uhm, it’s --”

“You’re Not Kayley, right?” Gothel says, her voice clicking into place for me, finally.

“Yeah, that’s me.” I hiccup, instantly slamming my eyes shut and trying not to cry again. Great first impression. Hiccuping. “It’s Kalypso, actually.”

“Oh,” she whoops, “Kalypso’s a much better name. It’s not that inhuman, either, if you want to use it. You could get away with it. Plenty of weird names these days, anyhow.”

“Maybe,” I whisper.

“And, if not, then Kayley O’Foraoine works fine, too. Is there anything you drink? Something to calm the nerves, maybe?”

“... Do you have a menu?”

“I’ll just grab you a glass of chocolate milk.” Gothel laughs, “Then, we’ll really get to talking.”

When she comes back, she informs me it’s warm and hopes that’s okay.

I fall asleep in the middle of a sentence, after only drinking half of the glass.

~~~

I stare at her.

She stares at me.

I turn to walk away.

She runs in front of me.

Rinse and repeat.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to get out of this, is the thing.” I huff, staring down, down, down at Aphra.

_ I don’t know what you think I want to get out of this! _ She protests.  _ I really, really just want to apologize! _

“Awesome,” I release a rude, rude smile, “I don’t accept. Deal with it.”

I step around her, and make it all of 3 more strides before she’s in front of me again.

“Please! Kalypso --”

“That’s Kayley, to you, Aphra.” I correct, but my heart’s not in it. There’s a difference today from her attempt yesterday, some slight variation in the cadence of her voice, in the depth of her desperation. “As I told you yesterday.” Only, I didn’t.

I’m not generally an idiot. In certain situations, sure, I can be preeeetty dumb. For instance, shutting myself in for many full days in a row because a cat was rude to me.

But not always.

See, the Aphra I spoke to a few weeks ago, the one who listened to me comfort myself over the workings and histories of my people, that Aphra and the one I spoke to more recently, cool and vicious, and insulting, those cannot be the same cat. At first, I guess, I genuinely thought that they were, that to think that they might not be would be insane, bordering on conspiracy. But as time has drawn on, Aphra’s various attempts to draw an acceptance, a form of forgiveness, out of me have only strengthened my resolve to not feel crazy.

There is more than one cat, probably with more than one key, that Kit is having run around here. 

It hasn’t come up in our conversations, somehow. Since I nearly got to see my favorite sister again, a few weeks back, Kit has felt like it was her solemn, enjoyable duty, to spend as much time with me as possible. On some level, I think, she blames herself for my having gone out, even though that fire probably wasn’t her doing unless, of course, she magicked it up out of pure anxiety after I refused to confirm that I was okay. In which case, it’s still sorta on me.

But…

But…

Fucking buts.

But all of the hanging out I’ve been doing with Kit lately hasn’t made me feel all that much better about anything.

Dione is still a world away from me. I still can’t seem to handle my apparent isolation issues, given that now I’m relying on Kit to keep me company, even though I’m not all that sure she wants me around for the reasons that I want to be around her. After a few weeks of walks, meals, and movie nights, I’d’ve expected I’d notice something, some sign that she was into me in the same way that I am her.

I’ve got nothing. 

No grand sign, like deciding to flash me for being obtuse, like one might hope.

No smaller tell, like sex eyes, like one might expect. 

No awkwardness about me wanting to hug her a bunch, like one might believe would come from somebody who just wants to kiss you instead.

Just gorgeous, beautiful Kit, beside me, across from me, next to me.

And what am I to make of that, hm?

That maybe, just on the far side of possibility, Kit thinks of me the same way I have been, lately.

As a woman who’s halfway back up the climb from broken. As someone who’s clearly trying, but not trying hard enough. As someone who’s not, yet, dating material. Or kissing material. Or any material but broken.

“Aphra, get out of my way.”

Halfway outta hell is still hell. 

_ No! Please, Kay, just let me try to explain what I was trying to -- _

Halfway back from broken is still broken.

_ Wait, what? You’re not brok -- _

I step around her again, and this time I up the ante on getting away from her by breaking into a light jog, bag bouncing against my side, my glasses hopping on my nose, as I spread my long legs out and make a steady minute or two of non-Aphra sightlines.

As soon as my stride breaks, and I start to slow down, Aphra’s ran hard enough to catch up to me, eliciting a long groan from me. “Why the hell won’t you leave me alone?”

_ I want to apolog -- _

“Oh, you’re not even the same Aphra who attacked me!” I grind out in frustration, drawing the tabby at my feet up short.

_ Uhm, w-what? What do you -- _

“Look, you are far, far too sweet to be the cat that Kit’s always calling an asshole or shithead, or whatever. That other Aphra, the one who insulted my history, heritage, and personal past, sounds a lot more like Kit’s Aphra than you do. Which, honestly, is probably a good thing, given the real Aphra seems like a piece of shit.”

_ I… You’re not… You aren’t wrong. _ She finally gives in.

This does not make me feel any better.

“Well, then, I guess I just don’t get what Kit’s gameplan is. Are there multiples of you running around at once? Is her goal genuinely to get swept up by the first bub who can catch a cat? Is she marrying some idiot for tax purposes? And why are you hanging around me all the time? I can’t get the other one to acknowledge my existence half of the time, and I can’t get you to leave me alone even one times after almost a hundred attempts! What’s the plan here?”

_ I, well, uhm, the thing is -- _

“I don’t even care what the thing is or isn’t, or was, or never was anymo-"

_ \-- Kit wants you to take the key! _

“Excuse me?” I step back for the first time today. “She what?”

_ Kit wants you to get the key. The one on my collar is the only one, the other Aphra goes out with a key that wouldn’t work because that is still working to keep her free for the day. She wants you to have this one. _

…

Huh.

Unreal.

_ So, now that you know flat out, you should just take it, and run to her apartment, and then ask her out! Maybe tomorrow you can do the proposal thing? One step at a time, you know? _

“I’m not taking it.”

_ Huh?!  _

“I said, I am not taking that key.” I huff, picking out a park bench to plop myself down on.

_ But… _ Aphra hums, hopping up next to me,  _ Kit was sure you were interested in -- _

“Kit!” I almost yell at her. “I’m interested in Kit. I am interested in cuddling, hugging, loving, kissing, wrestling, playing around with, and, certainly, waking up with her. I am not interested in this… This game where she pushes her cat at me to try to rope me in on some… Whatever the fuck this has been.”

_ But -- _

“You wanna tell Kit why I didn’t take it?” I start firing up. “My self-esteem has taken a pretty hardcore pounding in the last few weeks. Your twin, missing my twin, every single solitary thing about missing my twin, including my hair catching fire, and all of the fucking breakdowns I’ve had in the last few weeks alone. I thought, genuinely, that I was getting to be pretty well adjusted, and now, I have no fucking idea. All the while, I’m sitting next to Kit, wondering if I misread everything, wondering whether she pulled away because she watched me sob for an hour after I missed Dione by literal seconds, seconds of time that I can account for, that I could have --” I cut myself off with a huff, “-- it doesn’t matter. That key doesn’t matter.”

_ I -- _

“If Kit wants anything to do with me, if Kit wants to be the one chasing  _ me _ for once, Aphra, you go ahead and tell her that I run in the same fucking place every day.” I shove myself off of the bench, and just before I start running, I toss one more thing over my shoulder.

“She knows where to find me!”


	9. Kit's It All Falls Down

“She knows where to find me!”

I know where to find her.

I know where to…

I know…

I don’t know shit. I don’t know anything. Literally anything.

I know nothing.

Months ago, this woman was a stranger. Months ago, she was just the stranger I half-liked who occasionally came over to my apartment to ask for laundry money, or butter, or, just once, to see if I was okay because it’d been a while since she’d seen me leave my apartment.

Months ago, I knew this woman only as 303. Months ago, I had no inkling whatsoever that she was an ex-communicated Fae, living here not because she wanted to, but because she was simply making the best of a bad situation. I didn’t know she had a sister, a society, a home that she’d never get to see again. I had no idea that she lived her life in nearly total isolation, going out so damned rarely.

Months ago, I knew nothing.

Months later, I know nothing.

I’ve tried, here and there, to poke or prod. More often than not, I’ve elected to take things more slowly, try to just let someone who’s never needed to understand the meaning of leading questions recognize when I was trying to get her to open up. I’ve decided that the best course of action was to have a handful of very meaningful conversations with her, and a majority of nice, forgettable conversations that just aren’t worth remembering. 

I know nothing.

What’s her favorite color?  _ Maybe _ grey?

What does she care for most in the world? I don’t know. Making guesses doesn’t count.

What does she like to do the most to try to relax after a trying day? I don’t know.

What’s her mother’s name? Father? How many sisters or brothers does she have? Other than Dione, because freebies aren’t free, what are their names?

I don’t know.

What’s her favorite childhood memory? 

What’s her favorite book? Is it one that I’d recognize or be able to read? Maybe, maybe not, but do I know what it’s called? Did I ask? Do I know?!

Does she have a favorite movie? Where’s her favorite place to hang out?

If we had a first date, where would she take me? If we had a first date, where would she be happiest with if I took her?

Does she want to have children one day? How many? 

Does she listen to music? How is it different here than it was back home, for her? Does she prefer either place more than the other?

“She knows where to find me!”

She’s running away from me, now. Her long legs are carrying her so fucking fast, that I don’t know how I could ever hope to catch her like this. Hell, I don’t even know if I could hope to catch her with my substantially longer human legs; She exercises regularly, I just make sure I eat well enough not to hate my body. How the fuck am I supposed to chase her, let alone make an effort to catch her?

A few weeks ago, her hair would have been flying in the wind behind her. Then, I suspect, my mother got to her. Now, as I watch her go, only the top floof is affected at all. Her muscled legs, her wonderful ass, her strong, pumping shoulders, she’s using that wonderful body to run away from me.

Maybe she’ll be better off if I don’t chase her.

What have my choices been lately, huh? 

I tried to remove magic from my brain alone, and I’m only alive because my mother swooped in at my familiar’s behest.

I tried to get a girl comfortable enough to talk to me, to eventually ask me out, and never once took the initiative of just swinging myself into her lap and pulling her lips to mine, pressing my body against hers, feeling her arms wrap around me -- I can almost feel it now, like a dimension that’s so minutely parallel that whispers of it drift here from time to time. Her hands trace my shoulders, before trailing the sides of my spine, until she’s low enough to scoop my ass and lift me up, deeper into her kiss. I’m moaning into her lips, trying to inspire her to carry me to bed and  _ ravage _ me, and…

She’s running away from me. She’s getting further and further away from me now.

If there were people around at this time of the morning, it might be harder for her. She would have to take her athletic shorts and her regular tennis shoes, her tank top, her steadily swelling biceps and her better-by-the-day triceps, and maneuver herself in and out of the crowds, stopping and starting as she tried to run away from me. Instead, I watch as she pumps, and pumps, and pumps…

What would a wedding day look like for us?

We’d have a private ceremony. It’s not like her family could come, and all I’ve got is a mother who’s so consistently shitty to me that she may as well not bother to come, unless she’ll wear brown, at my request. I’ll wear a flowing, beautiful number that it takes me months to find, she’ll spend weeks, just weeks, picking out the best possible suit or dress, whichever she likes, to become mine. Maybe she’ll grow her hair out. Maybe she’ll somehow get taller.

Almost a block away, now, and steadily getting further and further.

What would our lives look like together? We’d wake in the moring, one before the other, but never leave bed for the morning without one another. Breakfast would be such a fun affair, day in and day out, trying to cook for just me while she’s got nothing but a snack on her mind, and then enjoying her company as I chow and she smiles at me. Breaking for a bit so we can each work. Lunch and dinner together in a nice home in a middle-class suburb.

Whether we have kids or not would be up to her, I’m not all that fussed, either way, truth be told. 

Crossing the road puts her at a solid block lead on me.

That parallel dimension, moments ago just brushing into mine, is drifting and drifting fast. Space is a fickle medium and, with but a minor gust of wind, galaxies drift for millennia. Before too long, if I just wait, Kalypso Once of the Fae will be out of my life, maybe forever.

Maybe Aphra was right.

Maybe I should just let this go. My work has suffered, has slowed since I noticed she was interested in me, since I learned her name, since I found out what it’s like when I cause her smile. I’ve been unfocused, undriven, unmotivated. Maybe it’s time, time to let it all drift away. Time to let it all go.

It’s right for me, now, right for me to let that dimension drift, let Kalypso retreat to her island of isolation if she doesn’t want to work for me, too. Work for me, too.

What the fuck is the effort I’ve put into chasing her?

She’s worked to get to know my cat better, pushed to be there for me, and made sure that I was as happy as I could be?

What have I done for her? What have I given her the space, really, to talk about?

Maybe she’d be better off without me.

I swallow hard. Two blocks.

I can hear my mom judging me already;  _ When did you learn divination _ ?

What the fuck do I know about the future? What the hell do I know about the past?

Fucking nothing, as firmly established.

If I’d paid more attention, maybe I’d’ve caught the moment this feeling sparked in my chest. If I’d known that those moments together, in the hallway, in the corner store, in the hallways, in our apartments, maybe I’d’ve caught the moment where my stomach fluttered and my mind raced, and every single one of these thoughts that’s been dominating me for weeks was born.

Maybe I’d’ve noticed when I fell.

I don’t fall now.

I leap. 

I don’t land as smoothly as I could on the sidewalk below, I’m not Aphra, I’m not used to jumping as she is. Still, my little toe beans make the landing marginally better, and I immediately turn after Kalypso, and launch myself forward as fast as I can.

I can’t tell you how much time I lost, how much extra effort I’ve created for myself, trying to get from this point here to her again. I just don’t know. And I just don’t care. Every one of the possibilities, every one of those moments,  _ I _ want them. I can’t just sort of push Kaly and hope she’ll rebound and really push me back, if I want a result, I need to get it started.

She’s a fast runner. She’s driven by rage, by confusion, by loneliness, by everything negative that’s worked itself into a fine-point and driven itself into her chest, her stomach, her head over and over again for the past few weeks. 

I’m a bit faster. I’m driven by care, my longing, by a certainty that if I want anything, I want  _ her _ . I’m driven by everything that’s flattened itself out and slapped me across the face with the utter obviousness of it all for the past six months.

But I’m not quite fast enough. Her legs are long, mine are short, and I gave her a head start that’s nearly uncrackable. 

Magic respects persistence. So does the universe, I think.

I push myself, harder and farther that I definitely ought to, block after block, working hard just to keep her in my sight, until I finally, finally catch the biggest break of my life, as she comes to a road that’s swimming in traffic, and pulls to a stop to jog in place, waiting for an opening. 

And waiting some more.

And waiting for a block.

And waiting for a block and a half.

The light on the cross section changes, the traffic halts, and a rested Fae woman with little much else to do or think bolts across it. In my utter hubris, I almost lose all of my gains by assuming the light will hold for a few more seconds, as it changes to orange just as I come upon the crosswalk.

By the time it turns red, I’m nearly all the way over, and I must avoid getting run over by the wisps of a single hair on my tail.

I don’t care. I can’t see her, just now, but I know where she went, and I race after Kalypso like my life depends on it. Knowing magic like I do, there’s actually a great chance that it does. 

If you’re slightly faster, then a two block gap is not easy to cross. If you’re slightly faster and just under one half of one block behind, then you’re actually in a great place for an eventual win.

If you have any endurance whatsoever. 

A month ago, I would not have been able to keep up with Kalypso at all. A month ago, I wasn’t doing anything real to exercise my limbs, my ligaments. A few weeks ago, I took up merciful amounts of running with Kaly and, although I have a long, long way to go to being actually, properly fit, I am one thing that I probably would not have been before.

Now, I’m just barely good enough.

It’s just another three blocks, further and further away from all of the crowded, Friday morning streets, and deeper into residential neighborhoods whose families are still waking and prepping for the day ahead. Just another three blocks before I’m so, so close to her.

_ Kalypso! _

“I told you -- To leave me -- Alone!” She huffs between breaths.

_ I know but -- _

“I’m only -- Interested -- When Kit chases me!”

It’s a mistake, I’m sure. A big one, probably. Some of the best breakthroughs in history started out as mistakes.

_ I -- _ “-- know!”

I watch her head twitch, I watch her step stutter, I watch as her eyebrows pop as the small orange tabby she’s been running from all morning transforms just before her eyes. Small orange tabby, no more! 5’1” North American woman from a number of questionably located ancestors at your service!

“Kit?” Kalypso says my name in confusion and, if I hear right, frustration.

Just as I finish my transformation, Kalypso freezes in place, I’d suspect that she was expecting me to do the same. 

She expected absolutely incorrectly.

I’m also at your service as a bowling ball, as it turns out. I’m taking calls at your earliest need.

I slam roughly into her at effectively full-tilt. If she’d had time to prepare, Kal might’ve just held fast and bounced me right back off of her. Instead, my bowling-body catches her flat-footed and we’re a twisted mess of limbs and sweat one second, then she’s flat on her back with me mostly on top of her the next. 

I can’t quite tell where all of my limbs are as my knees and palms sting, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut against the pain (and the embarrassment), but as soon as Kal shifts beneath me, even a little bit, every single part of me lights up like a farm full of decorative christmas trees on December the 1st.

I’ve ended up laying just a bit off of her center, my hips about even with her belly as our legs get mixed together, and when I lean back for just a second, my hands land just above her shoulders, effectively --or, so I’d like to think-- pinning her down beneath me. My hair falls down around my shoulders, blocking the world out from view. I’d like to think I could have gotten out of that situation, I’d like to think that one, single thing doomed me, somewhere between the stunned, hungry look on her face and her curling her hands up to hold me steady by cupping my sides. Truth is, though, that I was probably doomed long before the sun rose that morning.

She’s just a few inches from me. Her shining eyes, her flaring little nose, and those sweet, kissable lips. I flick my eyes back and forth between her brilliant eyes and those lips, unconsciously licking my own, trying to find any single sign that this is okay, that I can -- That it’s okay with her if I just… 

I’ve gotten fucking nowhere with this dummy via vague and simple suggestions.

“Can I --” I start to say.

“Kiss me.” She interrupts, and it’s not a question. 

Air that filled my lungs the second before is irrelevant. What I had for breakfast, what my plan is for lunch? Insignificant details, just the nuts and bolts holding the rollercoaster of my life together. Am I going to make rent legally this month, or will I have to inflate the economy to get it done? Bolt. When I wake up tomorrow, will I feel happy or over the moon joyous? Bolt. Will I be holding the woman below me nice and close? Track.

The second Kalypso interrupts me, confirms for me what I’ve wanted confirmed this entire time, I rocket myself forward, and although my lips crash into hers, she’s far, far more prepared for this impact. 

Kaly tastes perfect, like a mix of homemade chocolate chip cookies and the purest milk you’ve ever imagine, and she kisses like a fucking dream. The instant our lips meet, her hands on my waist tighten, pull me closer, and I manage to get my arms under her head, cradling her kiss closer to my own.

I love kissing her from the first second we kiss. I love the feeling of a buzz that emanates outward from my lips, through every nerve and synapse, through every joint and organ. I love the sensations that her lips cause; My racing heart, my flipping stomach, the pulsing between my thighs, all of it. I love that the entire time her lips are pressed to mine, I can feel the same things happening to her, in the way she shifts and arches, in where her hands move to pull me closer to her.

Every single second of it, except for the end.

A car drives by and honks at us, reminding us we’re on a city street.

I pull back from her, not more than a few inches; Eye to eye, smile to smile. I love the look I’ve inspired on her face, the dazed tinge of her eyes, the almost invisible blush on her cheeks, the swollen kiss on her lips. All of it.

“We…” I don’t know how I fail to realize my chest is heaving until I try to speak, but it’s an easy adjustment to make. “We should stand up.”

“Uh huh.” She says, but as we make our way to our feet, something seems… Tilted. Out of perspective.

“Was that…” I swallow hard to regain my composure. “I thought that was really, really good. Incredible. Was it… For you…?”

“You’re absolutely right.” She whispers, barely audible over the sound of the city coming to life around us. “You are.”

It hits me square in the chest that she’s being reassuring right now. Right now, of all times?

“Kaly, is everything okay?” I murmur. I can still taste her breath on my tongue, feel her nose brushing mine.

I watch her struggle, so close to me, with how to answer that question. 

She wrestles with it. She struggles with it. Ultimately, I don’t know whether she wins, or the question overpowers her, but eventually, she answers, “No, Kit. I -- I don’t think it is.”

Cloud 9 is a long, long way in the sky.

“I chased you.” I whisper.

“I know.” She replies, and her expression is clearly losing.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” I frown.

“Yes, I… I just…” She’s struggling. I wonder, for a moment, if I asked her to relate this to a battle from some war if she’d be able to articulate it better. I refrain. “Kit, was it you that I had that first chat, about the Fae, with?”

Full disclosure. Honesty. Lesbians love honesty.

“Yes.” I answer confidently.

“Then you…” She frowns, “You, what? Jumped into your apartment and changed for 15 minutes?”

“Yes.” I answer, my confidence slipping on a teary slope.

“Then you went away, and Aphra --”

“Was a shithead, yeah.” My confidence finds a dry chunk, and uses that to regain some ground.

“Then today, you --”

“Wanted to give it a shot. I never thought it’d end up like this.” The rock slips, and I go tumbling.

“So… You lied to me?” I hit rock bottom.

“I did, and I’m so, so sorry that I did. I just -- Once I started, I wasn’t sure there was a way to stop, and you were still having an easier time talking to Aphra-Me than real-me. I just wanted to learn more about you, and --”

“So you did it for my own good, is that it?” I don’t catch how sharp her tone is, until it’s far, far too late.

“Yes!” My confidence stands at rock bottom, sure there’s no further to tumble, until it hear me say  _ that _ and suddenly the bottom of the bottom crumbles apart, and I go slip and sliding away, again. “Well, not really, that’s not --”

“What you meant?” She sighs, “Well, it’s what you said.” 

I can’t defend that. “I’m sorry, Kalypso, I really, truly am. I don’t… There’s no way for me to prove this in the short term, but I will never lie to you again.” Big guns, front and center, everything I’ve already gotten from every anti-pathological-liar book I’ve ever read because… “Trust takes time to build, and I know that! From my experience with my mom, especially! I just, I... I will let you in fully, no secrets, anything you ask, it’s yours, if you can fi --”

“I don’t want anything I find.” Kaly stops me cold. “I’m not some kind of benevolent dictator who wants to rule over your life until I know I can trust you not to lie to me, Kit.”

“But --” Oh, no.

“But, what? I just want you to be someone I can trust, someone who doesn’t pull things on me like getting me to open up to, ‘their friend, the cat,’ so they have more information than I do going in.” Oh, Gods, no.

I lied so much. So casually. So constantly.

Just like my mom would in my place.

“Pull things on you?” I frown, effectively tumbling into the darkest places, far beyond rock bottom, “I… Kaly, I didn’t pull this on you! I wasn’t expecting to meet you when I went out in Aphra’s place, it just happened. I won’t deny that I lied to you, I did, and that was so, so shitty of me, but I didn’t start this as some kind of joke on you.”

This pulls her up short -- Not incredibly so, but short, and she takes a single, steadying breath. “You’re right. You didn’t. But, yeah, you still lied.” She shakes her head, “You still lied  _ to me _ . Repeatedly. Went out of your way to do it.”

“I did. And it was so, indescribably shitty of me.”

“Yeah.” Her voice is almost a whisper, hard to catch as doors are slamming and kids are starting to shout behind us, getting ready for the school day that’s yet to begin. “It really, really was.”

For a little while, that just leaves us staring at each other. I don’t know what the hell to say to her, and she doesn’t know what the fuck to say to me. 

Where does any relationship go from here? Gods, I thought I was handling my leaning tendencies so much better than this, and yet, there I was, every day, eagerly telling her lies and hanging about her to try and bump her into my little web. There I was, my own mini-Gothel

Maybe I’m just --

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.” Kal’s voice hasn’t gotten any louder, but the more of it there is, the more I hear. 

“Kal, I --” I try to say, cutting myself off when I see her start to say something again.

“It’s just that --” She says, cutting herself off, too. Silence, again, until I nod for her to go ahead. “-- It’s just… Until the last few months, I really thought I was starting to really settle in. Get used to it out here. I genuinely believed that.”

“If it’s any consolation,” I murmur, “I think you fit in perfectly so, so much of the time.”

She shrugs her response.

“I’m not pushing you to say yes, to me, by any means --” I start, and I hear my mother’s voice whisper in my ear, ‘If I’m upfront about my lie from the start, it’s not so bad, right?’ and change my tune a little bit, “-- Not that I don’t still want that, naturally. It just seems, to me, that you’re handling most of it fine. Just… Not the coping part. And,” I swallow, hard, “I don’t think that means being alone, for you.”

Kalypso stares at me for a long, long while. I have plenty of time to try to put a sentence like that into the context of an argument with another witch or a human, and I’d expect that, in those moments, constructive criticism would go over about as well as the punch in the face that might come the next moment. With a Fae, however, with people who have conflict resolution drilled into their bones?

Eventually, she nods, her cute little floof bouncing, “I’ll try to think about it like that. Thank you, Kit. But… The lying, on top of that, I just…” and I think, maybe, that things could be okay, today. I think, in that moment, that there must be something I could say to her, I just have to phrase it right, in a way that I genuinely mean, and it just has to come across properly. Then, Kal lets loose a long, hard sigh. “I hate lying. I hate people who lie. I hate the people who can’t see through the lies. I hate the whole damned thing.”

“I know.” I sigh into her space, “And I’m so, so sorry, Kal, truly. I promise you, you’ll never hear another lie from me, ever.”

Kalypso’s pulls back from me, her head tilted. “See, but, people lie all the time! Good, moral people lie in certain situations, and I can’t help but think that already puts your score at negative one. Besides, I’m not looking for complete honesty, I’m not looking to become someone’s monitor, to wonder constantly if they’re lying to me then, breaking some dumb, desperate promise they made on a sidewalk. I don’t think that would work out, at all.”

“Well, I…” Dumb and desperate, huh? I’ll show her dumb and desperate, I will! “I’m going to do my best, if not about lying, then just… Being trustworthy, for you. I swear to it.”

I can’t read her eyes, and it scare the fuck outta me.

“So, what do you say? Will you gimme a chance?”

Kalypso’s turns her watery eyes from me to the city around us, almost as though she’s searching for some kind of path towards escape, even as I so desperately want to believe that it’s more to do with ensuring we have privacy, just now.

“Maybe.” She whispers. “Someday. But… No. I’m sorry, Kit. I can’t. I need some time.”

She pushes me away.

She finds her escape.

This time, when she runs, I don’t chase her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end of Part 1: Familiars. I hope you've enjoyed the work up until this point, and will further enjoy Part 2: Connections.


	10. 10. Kalypso's Catastrophic Month of Chocolate Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: Connections

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck.

Fuck.

My head is absolutely pounding.

Every slam of the next foot into the pavement below me only makes it worse, ramping up the intensity of the throbbing. People all around me blur about, becoming Jackson Pollock smears, blending with buildings and cars, sidewalks and streets.

Somewhere behind me, a woman stands in the street, inches away from launching into my arms, holding me tight, and kissing me. Again. Kissing me, again. Kissing me, holding me, soothing me --

Lying to me. Telling me lies, half truths. 

The tears start pouring down my cheeks less than a minute after I’ve started running away again. The spring wind blows against my basketball shorts and suddenly I’ve run into a brick wall dressed in blue slacks and a white button up. His tie is lovely, thick rainbow bands slashing diagonally across it all the way down, and his smile is friendly. As soon as he reaches down to help me back up, he’s saying, “It was lovely to meet you again, Kayley!”

“You as well, Officer Reid!” I laugh, reaching up to adjust the glasses on my face, only they aren’t there --

They’re sitting on his desk, ahead of me, which he sits behind. 

“Do you remember anything yet?” Kee’s smile greets me. “Do you know who’s glasses these are?”

“I’m sorry, Kee, I don’t.” I lie. 

“My name is Officer Reid!” He thunders, suddenly, and the clap finds me back outside, the rain pouring down through the thick forrest around me. Wind whips up the raindrops that have fallen past me, giving each one a second chance to sting the bare, shivering skin that my dress doesn’t cover.

Frustrated, looking down at the fractured wand that was once mine, I let loose a long, heartfelt, “FUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

Someone squeezes my hand. “I know it’s frustrating, Kaly.”

“It’s just not fair!” I protest, pressing my fingers against the bandages that cover my eyes. “I was just trying to --”

“Not trying,” Dione forcefully corrects, “Succeeding! You did it! You saved her!”

“And my reward --” I start.

“Will be to go home and rest, soon, I’m sure!” Dione eagerly assures me. “In just a day or two, we’ll get you out of here, you can work on adjusting to the echoloc--”

“But it’s not fair! I can still see!” I shout.

“I know, babygirl, I know, but you have an early morning tomorrow!” She coos, wrapping me up in her arms. “You know, no one likes to start school? But, I promise, give it a few days, maybe weeks, okay, and you’ll get --”

“Someone’s going to push me off the playground, though!” I protest.

“You don’t even know what the playground looks like, darling.” Her laugh doesn’t make it to my ears, but I can see her smile as she’s running her hand through my hair. “Even if someone pushes you --”

“I dreamt it, mommy!” I protest, fiercely, ignorant to how much Dione’s looking forward to tomorrow, how much she wants me to shut up so she can sleep. “Someone’s going to push me!”

“-- You will be fine. Just take your wand and, do you remember what you do with your wand?”

“Tap my shoulders?” I pout.

“That’s right, sweetheart, you tap your shoulders.”

“Hey, mom?” Dione pipes up from her bed, “After school, can we go to the meadow?”

My heart stops.

“Yes, Dee, we can go to the meadow after school. You both remember what you have to look out for in the meadow, right?”

Horses.

“That’s right, Dione! Horses. You must be very careful of the horses.”

I scream.

And slam into the floor, gasping for air. 

It takes me a few minutes, trying to rustle free of my blankets, but I eventually manage to scramble out of them. Only, as soon as I do, I try to swing my head to find my nightstand, and I do -- I find it with my forehead. The resulting headache is almost as bad as the one I had a few minutes ago, but I wasn’t bleeding, then. Not literally, anyway. 

Just a little more fumbling, and I mange to find my glasses with slippery fingers, pressing them to my face. A blink or seven later, and I’m just finally able to scramble to my feet, towards the bathroom.

I stand there, staring at myself with only the light of the earliest rays of the sun to see by. It’s a glaring gash, however, that just barely runs from my forehead into the shorter parts of my hairline. Closing it only takes a few swipes of my finger, even if the sting hangs around as much as the headache itself does. 

Since I don’t have to pee, I tilt back out of the bathroom, wobbling into the kitchen, having to kick one of my slippers out of the way. The cool tiles almost hurt my feet, but I ignore it, ripping open the fridge so I can pull out the blender of chocolate milk and pour the last of it into the one of my remaining glasses.

As it heats up in the microwave, like I have for the last 18 nights in a row, I reflect over my second dream of the evening. It’s always short, rapid, and painful. I never get past that point before the microwave beeps and I can steal the glass out of it, downing the still-slightly hot cup in one gulp. I swing my attention back the blender, it’s utter emptiness, and frown.

I don’t really want to deal with it.

Then, I remember that I didn’t deal with it.

I threw it in the sink, unconcerned about the sharp, painful sounds of rain that came out of it a moment after. I was more preoccupied with getting back to bed.

The next day, after washing as much glass down the sink as I could, I scooped the rest out by the spoonful, before heading to the corner store to buy a new one. I ended up buying a gallon of store-brand chocolate milk and a gatorade that I never drank, so I could replace the milk lid.

So what did I just --

The microwave sits empty behind me, popped open, and unplugged. Half a jug of cool chocolate milk rests in my hands. Huffing, I push the gallon back into the fridge, before marching back towards bed.

I scoop the bedding all up, and throw myself underneath a messy heap. Blurrily, I raise my hand and cast perfection before turning to remove my glasses while the covers sort themselves out.

I dream.

“I’m sorry, I’m not ready.” What is readiness, even?

“Hey, Kayley! Telling the truth lately?” What is the truth?

“She’s alive, you’re alive, and we’re all together!” What’s togetherness mean, Dione?

“I’ll always be there for you, babygirl.” Who are you, again?

I wake up as the sun’s starting to fall downward, rubbing my head where the gash from this morning had been, and throw myself into the shower. I get what feels like clean enough, except for the rings under my eyes, and set out from my apartment, feeling like shit and wishing I were.

I go for about half of a run before deciding I’ve done enough, and I head home again.

When I get to the bar, I throw myself into the booth in the corner, despite the other people already sitting there. 

I don’t know what they look like, mostly because I don’t look at them.

The first glass that anyone hands me is filled with a clear liquid.

“What is this?” I frown.

“Water.” Gothel stares at me, not a thing showing on her face. “You should try it some time.”

“Fae don’t drink water.” I sigh, “You know that.”

“I also knew that no one could get drunk on chocolate milk. Mysticism and endless surprises abound in our big, blue world.” I stare at her. “Either try it, or get out.”

On my walk home, far earlier than I’m used to, I tuck my hands into my jacket pockets and keep my chin down. The weather is lovely, great for late spring, but I keep my eyes on the ground as I head home. When I get into the building, I take the west steps, and march to my apartment with robotic zeal. A door opens ahead of me, and I turn myself away.

I get to my own door just as they reach the steps, an old man and his dog. The latter of whom meets my eyes for a second, and when I dip into its mind, I get one word in reply.

_ Alcoholic? _

I laugh, outright. Sure, sure, alcoholic. Except, I’ve never had a sip of alcohol in my entire life.

I sit around my apartment for the rest of the night, mostly faffing about with work, helping the clients who’ve come to me for the week. Socially, I haven’t seen anyone, not even Guy Doom, in the last three weeks. Does that thing with Gothel count as social? No. Never has.

When the clock near my bed reads 11pm, I climb out of bed, tossing my laptop onto the couch, and stroll into the kitchen. 

There’s only a slight bit of the jug left when I shove it back into the fridge, and I can feel it hitting me hard. Even with my glasses on, the room around me spins and blurs, until I reach up, and cast dark on the lights.

It’s not the lights that blackout.

When I glance over my shoulder, I start running harder. Behind me, a pack of massive, orange tabby cats is chasing me. Block after block after block, they chase me, snarling and rabbid, shouting obscenities and slurs.

Finally, I think to duck into an alley and slam myself right into a huge mastiff. The dog, not less than a foot taller than I am, nudges me onto my ass, and gives me one big sniff. Frowning, not understanding what it’s doing, I stretch my hand out and press it against his massive snout.

_ Milkoholic? Taste sweet? _

“I, I don’t know about that!” I shout, scrambling to my feet.

“You don’t need to make any commitment, today.” The woman next to me almost purrs. “I promise, Kalypso, I will give you all the time in the world you need to consider.”

“Thank you again, Gothel.” I hum, the glass of chocolate milk sitting on a coaster beyond the paper in front of me. “You’re sure you can get all of this? Including the apartment?”

“It is stunningly easy,” she smirks, “to acquire all the necessary documents one needs to fake their way into society, yes. As for the apartment, my coven owns the building, and one of them is usually renting 303, I think it is, because there seem to be some extra ley line crossings there. What I mean to say is, I have a fairly easy in with the owner.

“I would ask, however, if you’re sure about your name. O’Foraoise is probably fine, I doubt anyone will look any deeper than Forest. I must stress, though, that it’s important to choose a name that you like, that feels right. Forcing yourself to go by Kayley really isn’t necessary. Most people don’t have any reference for Kalypso. Those that do just think of a greek goddess trapped on an island.”

I nod. “Ogygia, I know. One of the Faefolks most popular legends. A lot of names are born from it.”

Gothel frowns, “It’s not exactly a happy myth, as we tell it.”

“The beauty of it lies in what perspective you see it from.”

“If you can see it at all, right?” Dione jokes, nudging me with her elbow. “You haven’t stopped looking at her since we walked in.”

“Shut up!” I giggle, “So what?”

“The most magnificent collection of artwork in the entire house,” Dione rolls her eyes at me, “And your dumbass keeps staring is Tara Vas Prince.”

“I think you’re the idiot for not.” I murmur. “Vas Dumbass.”

“So everyone in our family’s stupid now?”

“The rest of us are incredibly smart. You’re just so dumb you drag us all down.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Dione fakes. 

“Just let me daydream, okay? We come here, like, every --”

“Just because we come out here often,” she says, “does not make everything around us less beautiful. We should try to enjoy the beauty of -- MARIA GET AWAY FROM THAT TREE! You never know what might be in it!”

“Sorry!” My older sister shouts back.

“We should try to enjoy the beauty out here, without drawing too much attention to ourselves. Think of it like a game of hide and seek!”

“Ew.” Dione and I echo.

“Oh, you girls!” Mom laughs, “Don’t take it so seriously.”

“Hide and seek is the worst.” Dione groans.

“Just call it what it is: Hurry Up And Wait.” I followup.

“Either way,” Mom smirks at us, “we should try to enjoy --”

“Mom, watch out!” Dione and I scream as one.

“Mom! Behind you!” Maria shouts from far to our left.

She never sees the horse coming up from behind her, even as we all scream.

And scream.

And scream.

I scream.

Tonight, I don’t even make it to the floor before smashing my face against something.

It must be perfect, the jump between my scream and the fall, as the left side of my face tastes solid tile. Something is stuck in my cheek.

It hurts.

I don’t have to stumble out of my sheets, first time this week, I think, in order to make it to the bathroom. My stomach is almost screaming at me, but I can barely hear it over the sound of my throbbing head.

Bump.

Bah bump.

Bump.

Bah bump.

Bump.

At a glance, the light of the bathroom around me flooding the space and my charred optic nerves, the thing stuck in my cheek sure look like… Glass. Not a small piece, either, and, frowning, I very carefully press a minor healing spell into the tender areas around it, until I can easily pick out the shard. 

It is definitely not on the smaller side.

Confused, but not that interested, I toss it into the garbage by the toilet, and use the wall to find my way through the dim apartment to the fridge. It takes no effort at all to lift the chocolate milk out, twist the cap, and drink down the last bits of it. I remove the cap, give it a rinse, and set it on the counter for the morning.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep, the way my face is thrumming. 

I’m right next to the sink. 

Without much thought behind the action, I stretch my hand up and fumble about for a glass, before forcing it under the faucet. When the cool water smashes against my arm, I pull the glass back, until it fills nearly to the brim.

Did Gothel offer me water? Or was that a dream?

I can’t remember.

Deep in the recesses of my brain, something whispers, ‘This is a bad idea.’

Headlessly, I bring the glass to my lips, and tilt my head back. Over the last 23 days, I’ve gotten so much better at drinking things incredibly quickly, and the average sized glass is gone in all of 5 seconds.

I’m still holding it another 5 seconds later, when the muscles in my abdomen collectively decide that this is, in fact, not something they want inside of me. They heave just twice, and I’m forced to spin in place, carelessly trying to set the glass down on the counter. After missing by more than a mile, I double over, and heave.

And heave.

Wave after wave of a vaguely brown mess expels itself from me, my stomach churns and tosses, churns again, until my chest is bouncing like a pinball, and I’m just barely holding myself up on the edge of the counter, my chin pressed roughly against the inside of the sink.

I decide to close my eyes, just for a few minutes. 

When next I open them, I’m still hanging on by a thread on the edge of the counter, half blind.

Only half blind. 

It finally registers to me that I must have blacked out on my feet, and… To put this elegantly, I must have fallen forward, glasses still half on my face, and smacked into the floor, hard. I broke my glasses. Real hard. 

It takes me a few minutes to make my way back to the bathroom, still on shaky legs. The moment I see myself in the mirror, I cringe. I look damned near hollow, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I haven’t eaten in… A while. Of course running’s been harder, lately. Of course everything’s been harder, lately. Under my eyes, the evidence of my shitty sleep is marked in place, obvious and happy to announce itself. 

I look how I feel; Like shit. 

I put together a pretty simple agenda in my head, and I get to kicking immediately. 

My half-ruined glasses find a place on my nightstand while I grab a shower and brush my teeth, then the still half-useful lenses find a spot back on my face as I grab a pair of running shorts and a tank top to wear out.

My next stop, which I happily, then tiredly, then painfully, run to is Walmart.

Look, we’re both judging me pretty hard, right now, okay?

The first question they have for me in the vision center is about abusive spouses and, when I assure them that I live alone and just had a few too many last night, they’re happy to move on right alongside me into jokes about looking like Two-Faced from Batman.

Since I showed up so early --yay, productivity!-- they have a few minutes to run through a basic vision test and, for the first time in the last two years, actually tell me to my face that I’m farsighted. Still half-blind, I give myself an hour or two to really peruse the frames they have, and I eventually settle on a pair with a fairly thin, black frame and big, round lenses, if only because the little arch of the nose is cute.

And, in a few weeks, I might actually be wearing them! For now, probably largely because they feel bad, they let me take an emergency pair free of charge, provided I bring them back undamaged when I come to pick up my new glasses.

By then, I’m feeling pretty good! After my long run here, my muscles definitely needed the hour or two of recovery time. As I stroll back through the sunny morning, I think a little bit about all of the mishaps that they had to come back from in order to perfect what is simply known as, ‘the,’ photosynthesis spell.

There was the version of it that let you eat as much sunlight as you wanted. Lottsa very overweight participants in that study.

There was the version of it that proportioned off a certain amount of sunlight until you’d collected all of it, then slammed you with the energy all at once. A lot of pure sunlight got vomited up during that one.

I think my favorite failed variation was the one that was meant to just collect throughout a twenty four our period, feeding you a certain percentage of it, little by little, throughout the entire day. They forgot that the moon is reflecting sunlight, too, leading to, you might’ve guessed, a lot of overweight or sunsick patients, yet again.

When I get home, now feeling much better, full on sunlight, and looking a little less like I’ve just been on a month plus long bender --I know, I know--, I start trawling through my closet for something that feels a little more… Professional than the t-shirt and jeans I’ve been rocking lately. I end up settling on a pair of casual blue slacks and a white button-up with rolled sleeves.

When I step out of my apartment for the last time, I should expect, of the day, it’s nearing two in the afternoon, and I feel incredible, comparatively.

Still, I’m not entirely sure how the rest of my day is going to go, and I waste every second I can on the walk towards my final destination thinking about everything that’s entirely irrelevant to the conversation I’m about to have.

When I step into Gothel’s Ale House, it’s almost entirely empty. There are a few people hanging around, chatting quietly amongst themselves, including a few people sitting in the booth, in the corner. 

Steadfastly ignoring them, I choose an entirely random stool as far away from the door as I can possibly get, and just wait. I don’t recognize the woman tending the bar, and evidently she doesn’t recognize me, instead strolling up to me and asking me what I’d like to drink.

I don’t get the chance to answer before someone far to my right answers for me: “Nothing.”

Without turning to see Gothel, I smile at the tender, “Exactly what I was going to say. Nothing. Thanks, though.”

When I do turn to meet Gothel’s eyes, I can almost feel my hair catching fire again, now that I’ve put those two things together. I raise my hand to give the goofiest little wave, only all that goof is thoroughly stomped out by the scowl on her face.

“Are you sober?” Gothel asks, bluntly.

“Did you know water was going to hit me like that?” I ask in reply.

“I tried to get you to drink it here.” She sighs, the scowl dropping from her face like such a stone from a cliff. “I really did.”

“I remember,” I frown. “Thank you for getting the idea into my head. I don’t know if I’d’ve puelld myself out of it alone.”

“You probably wouldn’t have.” She replies, moving around me to settle onto the barstool next to me. “I’m going to skip all the shit you know, already; I’m glad your okay, I was really worried, all of that, and get right to it.”

I simply keep my mouth shut.

“Between work, personal, and social shit, what was it that finally did you in?”

“Are you asking me to talk to you?” I hum.

“No, I am not. I’m asking you where you want to start.”

“I’m not having any struggles, professionally. Unless you know something I don’t, that is?”

“No,” Gothel hums, “The fact that you kept your standard quality kept me from trying to get you to puke a lot sooner than I ended up doing. So, is it personal or some kind of social thing?”

“A whole lotta both, with a tiny drop of professional.” I murmur.

“Oh?” Gothel perks up, “Is that so?”

“Can you really want to date your bosses daughter and not have it be a little bit professional?”

With her face blanker than a new white board, Gothel raises her hands together and gently claps them. “Congratulations. It only took you far longer than it should have.”

I nod. “You’re not wrong, that’s for sure. I saw you two arguing, that night she did the thing with the collar -- I dunno, I assumed you were either friends(ish) or sisters in the coven.”

“I don’t look too much older than she does. I keep trying to tell her to start taking better care of herself, sooner or later permanency is going to set in, and it’s going to get so hard to change anything about how she looks.” She looks me up and down, before scoffing, “What age does that set in, for you?”

“Oh, it already has.” I shrug. “I stopped properly aging, like, 5 years ago, I’d guess?”

“That young, huh?”

“When the body’s gotta maintain itself for 2000 years, it sets it’s rhythm real young.”

“Shame about your hair, then.” She sighs, “Gonna look like that for a long, long time.”

I huff, “Probably a century or two, yeah. I’m thanking you for it, though, aren’t I?”

Gothel’s only tell in that moment is the small twitch of her left cheek, and I smile at her, “Oh, it wasn’t that hard to peice together once I stopped being entirely stupid. It happened the day you and Kit were coming back from the Coven thing, Kit told me that she told you, and…” I shrug. “Now that I’m not drunk, and I remembered how to add things together…”

“Well, don’t fuck with my daughter’s head.” Gothel hums. “Especially if it makes her go digging around in there herself. Who knows what she might find?”

I’m struck that the obvious answer is sitting beside me.

“So, I’m assuming you and Kit had a fight?” Gothel eventually continues.

“She hasn’t told you about it?” I cock my head.

“Oh, you know how she feels about me, don’t you?” Gothel rolls her eyes. “Evil incarnate, immoral bitch, blah, blah, blah. You’d think I’d never participated in any revolutions or underground railroads, the way she talks about me.” We share a small laugh over that. “That’s hardly her fault, I guess. But enough about that; She doesn’t tell me shit. What was the fight about?”

“Apparently, half of the time Aphra was out running,” I sigh, “It was actually Kit playing kitty. Harmless in it’s own right, I guess, until I’d had a handful of… Deeper conversation with Faux-Aphra. And until she’d gone out of her way to hide and lie about it all.”

“Ah.” Gothel hums. “That is quite rude of her. Especially --”

“And,” I ignore her, “I only found out because she kept sending Real-Aphra to bother me while I was running, even after I’d asked the damned cat to leave me the fuck alone. The final time, right before our fight, I…” I steal one glance at my boss, the mother of the person I’m about to spill about, before I start gushing, “I told her, faux-Aphra, about how it’d felt like Kit’d pulled away in the weeks beforehand, even though we were hanging out a lot. After that first conversation, we got a little closer, but after I missed my sister --”

“Sorry,  _ what _ ?” Gothel gapes.

“-- she started hanging around me all the time, but… It felt different, I guess? I got it in my head that it was because she saw how…” I shake my head, “How broken I was, about getting exiled, about missing my sister --”

“Again,  _ your sister _ , Kalypso Vas --”

“-- I just started to think that she wasn’t interested in me, anymore, and that took another chunk out of my skin. Finding out that Kit had lied to me, that she was pulling away so she could try to preserve that lie, and, for some kind of bullshit betterment or something, especial after she kissed me, and goddess, it was a good ki --”

“Kalypso!” Gothel half-shouts. 

“What?!” I shout back, “I’m trying to talk to you here, and you just keep interrupting. I can see why Kit would want to put you in the luggage compartment.”

“What?” Gothel frowns.

“What?” I frown back, very sarcastically. Then, sigh, “Sorry, sorry. Still a little acidic. Too much sugar.”

“Ooooh,” Gothel’s dejected gape matches mine, “Not the store b-”

“Yes, the store bought chocolate milk.”

“Why don’t we just get you pure ethanol instead.” Gothel rubs her forehead, “It’d be better for you.”

“Yeah, well, no more chocolate milk.” I try to discreetly rub my cheek, but I know Gothel catches it. “Anyway, what were you trying to ask me?”

“Oh!” Gothel halfways gasps, “That’s right! I wanted to ask; Your sister visited you?”

“Tried,” I correct. “I missed her by just minutes. If I hadn’t stopped to compliment Micca on his haircut or I hadn’t fussed so much over what color I wanted it dyed --” I glance over at Gothel and catch the realization as it hangs on a wave of her brain and rides outwards, first to widened eyes and a popped eyebrow, then beyond. “-- then I might’ve been able to catch her. Still, it’s all the more likely that it just wasn’t meant to be, and I’d’ve missed her anyway.”

“How do you know?” Gothel jumps straight to her next topic.

“Kit.” I reply, “Kit told me.”

“Well, seems like --”

“You’re not going to make a new point.” I cut her off, “I’ve already thought of this, somewhere in the last… Month or so.”

“Fairies on benders.” Gothel grouses.

“We can’t waste too much of our time,” I sigh, “Everything’s gotta be fucking productive, or our brains just don’t allow it! Fucking things.”

After that, we mostly fall silent, Gothel humming to herself as she looks everywhere but at me, ensuring her bar is still standing and people are still starting to arrive as the sun begins to fall. Me? I just watch Gothel.

“So, what’s the choice?” Gothel finally asks, when her attention lands back on me. “Do you trust my daughter? Or are you going to find someone to erase her from your memory?”

I let a sad smile turn my lips as I quietly reply, “You wouldn’t know a spell like that, would you?”


	11. Kit's Books of Genesis

_ Why are you doing that? _

“Because someone needs to do the dusting!” I groan.

_ You’ve dusted every day so far this week. _

“And?” I almost shout at her. “So the hell what?”

Aphra physically shrugs her shoulder at me, but aside from that, she doesn’t give me any reply.

I huff more at myself than at her, and toss my swifter down.

_ Are you done already then? _ Aphra asks, but I’m not about to dignify her with a response now. Instead, I toss her a short, stiff glance before walking into my bathroom, closing the door behind me. Even though she couldn’t hope to open the damned thing, I twist the lock just at the same time as I press my forehead against the door.

Time.

The word reverberates around in my head like a fucking wreckingball. 

She needed time, right? What did she mean by that? 

Days after?

Days after I get my first taste of Kalypso’s lips, I’m sitting around in my own personal Ogygia, sealed off from the world. I’m alternating between two strong emotions. One, feeling like shit, for every reason you can imagine; I lied to Kaly, I abused her trust, I didn’t try to keep Dione around just a little longer, or ask her if she knew when she might try to sneak out again, and, honestly, the one that bothers me the most, I wasn’t there for her when she actually needed me. I guess you could say I was there in my greatest capacity as a friend, hanging out with her anytime she didn’t say no, outright, or ask me to stop bothering her, but even in the moment, didn’t I know she needed something more? And it could have been me. Instead, I thrust my cat at her over and over. Two, hungry. Pfft, what, did you think I’d be crying? Well, hah, I did, a lot!

A week after?

A week after I watched Kalypso walk away for the last time, I wonder for the first time if all of the responsibility for our fucked up attempt at some kind of romance lays at my feet. Admittedly, I think most of it does. I think there are some pretty clear steps that I could have taken, given all of the additional information I had that she lacked. Still, some of it has to be hers, too. Not that I know for sure which parts I want to try to say were her fault.

I’ve been out of my apartment just once, and I kept my eyes and chin down, tried to make sure that no one she might speak to saw me. Honestly, given all the corner checking and sneaking I felt like I was doing, it was far more like a spy mission than a trip to the corner store.

More than a month after?

Well, here we are now, aren’t we?

A month after Kalypso told me that she just needed some time, time to sort through whatever was bothering her, time to figure herself out, all of that shit. Where am I, now? Still in my apartment. Still trying to go out as little as witchily possible. 

Every Wednesday night, when I figure Kaly’s most likely to have turned in for the night, I make my weekly run to the corner store for various supplies, as I realize I need them. Given I’m trying my hardest to live like a Quarantine Queen --QuaranQueen?-, I rarely run fresh out of any stock, but I still make sure to keep myself well ahead of the essentials; Toilet paper, paper towels, milk, cereal, and water. 

Every Saturday morning, which Kaly told me she didn’t run on because it correlated with some kind of Fae sabbath (but I really just think she doesn’t run because she wants to play video games more on a non-work day), I go out for a weekly run through the neighborhood. You might think, with good reason, that I’d do this just so I could feel like I was close to Kaly again, but the real reason is that she infected me with some kind of shitty running bug. I try to fit in a second run on Tuesday nights, too, if I have the time and I’m reasonably sure she’ll be staying in. 

The rest of the time, I sit in my apartment, trying to reflect. What could I have done differently? What would I do differently if Kal gave me a second chance? What would I do the same?

I’d definitely still kiss her on that sidewalk. Preferably, we’d be standing.

Reflection, however, is so often just really hard to pull off. Realistically, after six straight weeks of reflecting over the same exact topic, you might think my next goal may be to reflect over some other shit. As opposed to the most likely helpful proposition, however, I do the exact opposite of trying to get more involved in my life, and crack open some of my favorite romance fiction.

Each book has been sitting here for nearly 8 months now, in storage bins or moving boxes, and I’ve not one, since I moved out of my mom’s house, felt the need to crack any of them open, until… Well.

If I have to tell you that each book is queer as fuck, then why are you even here? 

There’s the medieval serial drama of the knight and her charge, roaming around the countryside, falling more and more in love each and every week. Because I happened to have read it before, I manage to artifully skip the arc where the main character’s charge dismisses her for improper thoughts about a princess and skip right to the part where they get married, and eventually become Queens of the land. This one lasts a week.

There’s the contemporary novel about a rollerblading disaster lesbian who gets all fluster over another rollerblading homo who never talks. By the end of the book, the latter is -- Well, I’d hate to spoil the ending. That one, fairly huge with like 700 pages, lasts about 4 days. If I could have saved myself the pain, I might’ve shaved a day off by skipping the faux-break-up part. Such a great get-back-together though, so I can’t be all that mad.

I read a series about a woman who dresses up as a man to fight in the civil war, gets injured and abandoned by her troop when they discover her, leaving her to rot with a Confederate woman whose husband is most likely deader than a doornail. Those books last about 3 days.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t include at least a mention of one of the wackier lesbian books I’ve read, a fantastical drama about some kind of dragon-based magic system, where it turns out the simple hunter from the beginning is really a superpowerful badass sourceress in need of training, who’s girlfriend is a princess. Oh, I’m pretty sure they fuck, a lot, but it’s not really the focus of the book. Like it’s 700 page sister, written by the same author, this one takes about 4 days to work through. 

Of course, these are just some of my favorites of the batch that I work through over the course of the roughly month and a half of self-isolation.

Most of the rest of the time, I busy myself with chores I’ve not done by hand almost ever. I stroll around my apartment in my underwear while most of my clothes are in the wash down the hall, then steal through the building with just a robe overtop to get them switched and, eventually, bring them home. I hang my jeans, shorts, and skirts up in the closet alongside my t-shirts and sweaters, I fold pairs of socks together and toss those into the top drawer of the low dresser in my closer, alongside all the random bras and panties in there, totally unfolded. Just like a normal person.

I wash the dishes as I use them to cook meals, though I don’t extend my repertoire of meals too far beyond grilled cheese, macaroni and cheese, and toasting waffles. My dishwashers, magical or otherwise, go completely unused. 

By the time we get to the day where I shout at Aphra for questioning why I’m dusting again and locking myself in the bathroom, I’ve come to the decision that this isolation is far, far more about me than it ever was about Kalypso. Shocker, I know! I don’t intend on doing this all that often, but I think taking some extended breaks, not just from my mom, but from society in general, might be good for me. I’m not the biggest fan of other people that you’ve ever met, and the way a variety of people bug me usually mixes wonderfully with my mother planting ideas in my head about turning their desires to my own benefit.

When I step out of the bathroom again, Aphra isn’t sitting in her usual place atop the fridge. Far from eager to start another conversation with her, however, I stroll back over to the counter instead of trying to find her. After a few minutes of swiffering, I decide that this section of the counter is, in fact, dust free, and set the swiffer back above the sink, where I’ll probably grab it from tomorrow.

As I stroll back into my lair/livingroom, I reflect on a few things. 

First, I have no idea when my -- That’s about where my stroll ends, but I settle into my chair, hug my knees up to my chest, and keep on -- self-isolation ends. It doesn’t feel right, just yet, even if I’m starting to feel mildly cave-womanish. Honestly, I think the nudists and cavefolk had some solid ideas; Not wearing clothes, weather permitting, absolutely rocks.

Second, I hope Kalypso’s doing okay. I try not to think about her contemporary life too much, probably not the impression I’ve given you so far, but I just hope she’s okay. This has been hard on me, sure, but I’ve always been the kind of gal who got her shit together and rocking all on her own. “Dad’s dead, mom killed him, no siblings, let’s get it anyway!” Kalypso… Her support system turned on her, and I don’t even know if she got over that.

Finally, the fact that I’ve had stunningly few suitors come to my door to try and knock it down, since I stuffed the collar in my bag to rot forever. I don’t know very well what the hell to think of that, at all, so it just kind of sits in my brain, percolating. 

_ Hey. _ Aphra purrs. 

“Ack!” I fall out of my chair, and Aphra would’ve gone tumbling down with me if she hadn’t immediately jumped off the arm that she aporated onto. “Ow.” I huff. “You’re a total bitch.”

_ I am still aware of this fact. Thank you. _ Aphra purrs again.  _ What, are you going to try to make me change too? _

“I’m certainly going to try to yeet you out of another window.” I grumble as I climb to my feet, earning myself a hiss in the process. “Don’t tell me you don’t think you earned it, you shit.”

_ Just because I earned it doesn’t mean I want it. _ Aphra points out, getting closer and closer to another defenestration. Or, not, not really.  _ Hey, can I -- _

“No.” I immediately answer.

_ You didn’t even hear me out, _ says my familiar, somehow surprised by my answer as I pick up my chair.

“Of course, I didn’t,” I huff. “You’re a shit.”

_ I think you’d appreciate this information. _ Aphra purrs, which instantly makes me wonder if I won’t actually hate it, a lot.

“Ugh. Fine!” I grunt, rolling my eye as I pop my bare butt back into my chair.

_ Kalypso’s sitting at the picnic table outside. _

I try to act nonchalant about it. I try to think to myself, ‘Ah, well, it is almost summertime now, who could blame her for using community property, right? No need to go see that Aphra isn’t lying and see if I can figure out how --’

Accursedly, that’s about as far as I get with the thought before my feet start carrying me towards the window that sits directly beyond my coffee table. 

Thankfully, my feet are smart enough that they direct me to the left, where I can make sure no one outside gets a look at what I’d rather keep for someone special --yeah, call me a romantic, whatever--, as I tilt my head and glance out into the back lot of the building, mostly consisting of an alley, a small, greened-up area that sports a picnic bench -- A picnic bench that itself, currently seats a woman with short, orange hair.

She looks… Good. Healthy. Like herself. 

Most of what I can see of her from my angle is the top of her head, as she sits facing away from the table, legs clad in the first pair of shorts I’ve ever seen in her and crossed over one another, reading a book. I wonder what she’s reading.

_ I wonder if you realise how much of a stalker you look like from here. _

The hand that I press to my chest as Aphra, again, scares the crap outta me, quickly slides upwards, scrubbing my eyes between pointer and palm. “Is this your way of asking me for a new hobby?”

_ It’s my way of trying to convince you, again, that I should be allowed out with the collar on again. _

“Not happening.” I huff, “Steal some dog’s squeaky toy, I’m sure you’ll get a thrilling chase, Aphra. But that key is not going anywhere.”

_ Ugh, fine. Buzzkill. _ Aphra groans, then her head twists to the side, and her ears perk up.  _ Though, just my buzz. I think Kalypso can see your boobs from there. _

My brain does the minute calculation of considering the various angle involved, not hard to estimate at all, really, and then flicks directly to Aphra’s right, to where Kaly is looking at least somewhere close to my direction.

Wide-eyed, not entirely sure I’ve been busted, I gently step toward my own right, out of the line of sightlines down to the courtyard. “What’s she doing?”

_ She cocked her head and is staring up at me, I think? _

“Oh, Gods.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

_ Oh, she’s waving at me! _ Aphra lifts her paw, waves back.  _ Oh, wait, that’s not -- Humph. _

“What?” I ask, popping one eye back open, and feeling tempted to creep back over.

_ Oh, don’t bother. She already stopped. _

“What was it, though?” I can’t help but push, getting the rare reward for it.

_ It was a one finger’d wave, _ Aphra sighs.

I only get to laugh at her for a few minutes, however, before another voice invades my brain.

“Katianna.” It sends a shiver down my spine, as if the temperature itself drops around me. 

For once, both Aphra and I have the same idea, as our wide eyes lock at the same moment.

I swallow hard. Inhale nice and deeply. Raise two fingers and press them to my head, just above my ear.

“Yes, mother?” I gulp.

“It’s been far, far too long. I figure it can’t take you more than an hour to get all ready, showered, or sobered up, and come home for a visit. Or, if you’d prefer, the bar will do, just as well. Either way, I would like to speak to you in person. Today.”

“I…” I stare at Aphra, begging for her to give me some idea. “I really don’t know if I can get ready in under an hour, let alone get all the way th-”

“Fine, I’ll be there in ten-”

“I take it back! I’ll meet you at the bar in an hour?”

“I thought as much. See you soon, darling.”

My hand isn’t even done falling back to my side before Aphra, in her infinite wisdom, declares,  _ I think she’s gonna kill us today. _

“What, nooo!” I scoff, “There’s, nooo. No? No. She might have a lot of issues with legality and morality as concepts, but even she wouldn’t… No. It just  _ feels _ like she’s gonna kill us because I knew something like this was coming, and I didn’t prepare anyway, and -- Gah.” I scrub my face. “Look, we’ll be fine.”

_ If you make it there in an hour. Tick tock. _

“Ugggh, you’re right. I gotta get going.”

I force myself not to think about the time too much as I rush through a shower, scrubbing all of the last three day’s worth of dirt out of my skin, shampoo and condition my hair even though it’s not been nearly long enough for those to be requirements, and shave my armpits; Not for any particular reason, just because it makes me feel better to have done so. 

After I turn off the water, I slip the shower curtain open for some more arm-room and instinctively raise my hand, palm down. Then, I just stare at it.

_ Worried you’ve forgotten how to do it? _ Aphra says from the counter.

After I’ve screamed and almost thrown my body wash at her, she scampers out of the bathroom at a run, my yell of, “Stop that!” following her. 

Me? Out of practice. Pssssh, no. Hell, I cast a spell just… Ugh… Recently enough. I can still use magic, I know it. I know how to do it, too. It definitely isn’t just me, worrying like a dumb idiot about whether or not, y’know, use of magic somehow affects your mortal soul, corrupting your perspective and world view and making you think it’s cool to kill people. You know the quote? About how power corrupts?

Nope.

Much to my eternal chagrin, though, I don’t have a towel, so whether I like it or not, I have to use my magic for the same reason my ancestors first began trying to figure out how to tap into ley lines; Social survival.

After a steadying breath, I raise my hand again, my palm parallel with the floor. Raise it above my head, letting my fingers drape downward, before splaying them, instantly drying off.

I breath out a quiet sigh, stepping from the shower and crossing the cool tile until I can start brushing my hair out in front of the mirror. It takes a hot minute, but sooner than I’d’ve hoped, I’ve got it all brushed out, and putting it in my 9 millionth braid takes less than 5 more of my limited minutes.

“Alright, then!” I exude, strolling out of my bathroom, before wheeling right back around to brush my teeth and rise with some mouthwash. “Alrighty, now!” I cheer, hoping back out of the bathroom another 5 minutes later. 

“How much longer have I got?” I ask Aphra as I hurry towards my closet --

Until she says,  _ Oh, about 15 minutes. _

“Fuck!” I groan, though I don’t know what I expected.

Fine.

Palm flat, inverted come hither, twist. 

A moment later, I find out that I’m wearing a red, DSA t-shirt, and a coverall jean skirt with a cut so deep it might well just be a skirt with attached suspenders; Great, gotta get the message out there somehow. Undies, t-shirt, shorts and socks that matches my shirt in place, I opt to slip my feet into a pair of boots, yelling out to Aphra to ask her how much time I have left.

Too little. 

Her bar is at least a 12 minute walk from here, a 5 minute drive if traffic is good (it won’t be), and I only have about 8 minutes, at best, and that doesn’t include the steps down. Oh! But it’s only --

_ Kit! It’s the middle of the day! _

“So? I’ll take a little less direct route, and go high, too!” I huff, grabbing my heavy winter coat off of the hook behind me. 

_ She’s gonna wonder why you have that. _

“I’ll stash it all, it’ll be fine!” I protest, tucking my glasses into my bag.

_ Just tell her you’re running late, I’m sure she’ll get it. _ Aphra protests right back, and I’m a few seconds away from just walking out the door anyway, when I’m remember the state she was in when I first called her after the train incident.

I set the coat back on it’s hook, and grab my car keys at the same second I slip my bag over the opposite shoulder. I slip my glasses on as the door swings open, and as I close the door behind me and turn for the east steps, I just barely see a flash of orange coming out of the central stairwell. I haven’t got to the time to wonder, though.

“Mom?” I press my fingers to my temple, “I’m running a few minutes late, okay?”

Her reply takes a few minutes to come, but come it does, “Oh, uhm… Alright, darling? Just get here safely, I guess...? Thanks for calling.” and I wonder after the fact how often she gets called in the middle of a meeting with her 50% human staff members. 

I pull up outside her Ale House, which I don’t think has ever had any real ale on tap, about ten minutes later, and use one of my rare, ‘I have the privilege of taking all the time in the world to park as straight as possible,’ opportunities to the fullest.

Five minutes later, I climb outta my car and stroll leisurely into her bar, suddenly aware that I’ve arrived just in time to be party to my first happy hour tour on a Friday night in, oh, 4 years? Yay.

At first, I can’t spot my mom in the crowd that’s already gathered in the late afternoon, but before too long, I realize she’s relaxing in a back corner booth, almost parallel with the entrance. Making my way back there drains another 45 seconds of time between me and whatever my mother has planned for me this evening, so I’m not exactly shoving patrons outta the way.

“Hey, mom!” I put on my best smile as I slide maybe an inch into the booth. “What’s up?”

“Hey, darling,” she smiles back, “I just want to remind you, before I get started, that I love you dearly and I really do not hate you or curse you, nor do I want you to do anything that compromises your sense of morality.”

“... Ooookay. Are you okay? Are you trying to be funny?” I ask.

She inhales, and that’s when I get it; Serious conversation. But I still don’t fully get it.

“When was the last time you drank?” 

Now, now I get it.

“Never.” I answer, then give my eyes a little role. “Not alcohol, at least. Soda, er, 3 years ago?”

“Last smoke?” She follows up.

“Never.” I nod, strongly, “Except for those little candy cigarette things that definitely didn’t inspire generations of addicts for the nicotine industry to exploit.”

“Pot?” She sighs, as though even she isn’t that bothered.

“2 years ago? Whenever the last time Andrea and I got together was.” I miss out on her glare for all of, oh, 0.00005 seconds. “What?”

“I thought you stopped hooking up with her after high school. You know she was probably a worse influence on you than I’ve ever been?”

_ Shit, is that what I told her? _

“It, uhm, it was just for the pot. That time.” Not technically a lie. Just because other stuff happened after doesn’t mean that we were there  _ for that _ .

“Uh huh.” My mom hums. “And you haven’t gotten into, say, cocaine or molly or ecstacy --”

“Molly is ecstacy.” I murmur, then add, “Heard that on the news.”

“-- or heroin or… Anything?”

“No, no I haven’t. Is everything okay, mom?”

She sighs, “You know I just worry, sometimes. Especially when you go over 40 days without trying to get ahold of me, somehow.”

“Sorry. I just needed some time alone to get my head settled.”

“After all the stuff with Aphra and Kalypso?” She asks.

“And a little more that you don’t know about.” I sigh, absently tapping my fingers on the table.

“Oh, I assure you, I know about your argument with Kal.” My mom says, with the same energy she might tell me about some juicy gossip. “Not that you felt the need or desire to talk about that with me.”

I… In the absence of anything sensible to say, I add nothing at all.

“Not that it’s your responsibility to share everything with me.” She adds, gruffly, “I’d just like if I could talk to you more.”

It’s my turn to exhale, nice and sharply, “I… Don’t know about that, mom. More than in the last month, though. I’m sorry about that. How did you find out about my fight with Kal?”

“Kal.” She shrugs.

“Wait, you  _ talked _ to her?”

“Repeatedly.” My mom nods, “Before you knew her, while you’ve known her, and probably after you’re too much of a coward and slip out of her life, despite her efforts.”

I blink, blankly staring at her, “Sorry, uhm… What?”

“I said that I’ll probably still be chatting with Kalypso a long, long time after you’ve slipped out of her life because you’re too stressed out about whatever morality crisis has hit you this week to pay her any attention, even as she practically throws herself at you.”

I make a show of turning about. “Well… I don’t see her now. Besides, she was pretty clear that I deserved that last morality crisis.” When my mom rolls her eyes, I add, “I agree with her, of course. I was… Pretty shitty to her.” 

“Well, I imagine the next time you have a chance, you’ll apologize fully for being the straw that cracked the back on the camel that was holding her up from realizing she had an addiction.” 

“Wait, Kalypso? To what?”

My mother bites the inside of her cheek, and I can see the thought, ‘I probably shouldn't have said that,’ forming in her mind. “Why not let her decide to tell you about it, hm?” My mother offers, trying to backtrack a little bit. “Either way, yes, you did something shitty to her. That’s undeniable. But, you should probably just beat yourself up for, maybe, an hour, and then move on? Instead of doing it for… What, almost a thousand hours in the last 40 days?”

“I know you’re not wrong.” I nod, “But, I dunno, it seems a lot harder to go forgiving myself when the person who actually got hurt hasn’t decided to forgive me, yet.”

“Well, how do you know that? When was the last time you tried talking to her?”

“When we argued.” I admit, “But she told me she needed time! I just thought it’d be better to give her the time she needed to get herself in order, sort all of her stuff out and all that.”

“What stuff?” My mom frowns, “The part where she’s remarkably well adjusted for a fairy who’s just been shoved out of an interconnected society into a desperately separated, individualistic one like this? She helps others who are lost and searching for a place to call home for a living? The only issue she really had was learning more methods for coping, and she’s got that down pretty solidly now, I think.” 

Oh. I frown. I blink. “Huh.” I swallow. “I guess I just thought…”

“What, that she’d come chasing for you, again, after doing it for almost two months straight?” My mom shrugs at me, “There’s giving someone space, you blessed soul, and then there’s just ditching someone. A week, maybe two? Granted, it probably wouldn’t have been helpful for you to get involved in this case, but… If there’s a next time, darling, get it right. Two weeks and then, at least, text and see how she’s doing?”

I let myself look like I’m genuinely appreciating the advice, while I think,  _ Well, isn’t this the only genuinely nice advice you’ve ever given me. _

“Okay,” I smile, “Well, then, I’ve just got to put together some idea of how to approach her, give a solid apology, and then convince her that she can still give me the time of day without the universe imploding in on itself due to all of my lying. No pressure.”

“None whatsoever.” My mother gives me a big smile. “She should be walking in the door in,” she leans a little to get a better view of the clock behind the bar, “about 10 minutes.”

“Wait, what?” I asl, but she’s already slipped out of the booth, and began making her way across the room like a skilled tightrope walker. “Mom!” I scamper out of the booth, myself, forgetting to grab my bag. “What the fuck?!”

“Get thinking! You’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out!” she calls back, and then she’s further away than either of us could hope to hear over.

So I press my fingers to my head above me ear and murmur a strong, “You’re the worst.”

Her only reply is, “I love you.”

Feeling like I’ve been outmatched and outplayed when I should’ve expected it, again, I take a step around the table, and plant myself down with a clear view of the door. And, I start trying to think up something. I start trying to come up with something to say, with what sounds best, with something that’s the truth. But, better. The best truth.

And then, after two minutes, I stop. Who would want to talk to the most perfect, honest person in the room? Boring. Be a real person. Real people suck sometimes.

Hi, I’m still Kit. I’m the asshole who lied to you and went out of her way to trick you into doing something to my direct benefit, but I’m working on getting better. I hope you can forgive me, and let me work on building my trust back up with you.

About five minutes early, the doors pop open, and something in my stomach twists itself into seven knots a day all the way til Sunday. When she walks in, those knots start climbing all the way up into my chest, quickly taking over my tongue and, a moment later, my brain.

I was definitely right, she’s wearing some light, tan shorts. They’re a bit shorter than I thought they were, though, and she’s been doing something right lately, because her thighs  _ on their own _ start to do things to me. When I realize that she’s wearing a tank top, I have to resist the urge to fucking fan myself, too, because every part of her arms have gotten  _ so much _ more defined, if not actually outright muscely, but like that perfect place inbetween, ‘Great snuggler,’ and, ‘I can toss you threw a wall,’ you know? You know. 

Was her clavicle that defined before? Oh, fuck.

I am so fucked.

As if there weren’t bad enough, when she sees me sitting in the booth, her lips curl into a big smile, and  _ that _ just about convinces me I should write up an early will because this girl is going to fucking murder my ass with kindness. Almost immediately, looking more comfortable than I think I’ve ever seen her, Kalypso strolls over to me, and my eyes barely have time to dip down the rest of her long legs to see that she’s wearing a pair of cute, wraparound sandals, before she’s upon me.

“Hey, Kit!” She smiles, as she reaches the table. For a moment, I don’t know what to do, because her hand isn’t coming out to shake mine, which was about the formality I expected if she didn’t just slap me, but a moment later she adds, “I was kinda still hoping we were on hugging grounds, at least?” and I almost leap out of my seat, wrapping my arms around her like a kitten desperate for milk. 

“Hey, Kaly.” I whisper against her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, lil Kittycat.” She laughs, “But, there’ll be plenty of time for that later. Are you here alone or --”

“I got a tip that you would be here tonight.” I smile, stepping back from her, “I was hoping if I caught you by surprise, you’d be more willing to pretend to have dinner with me.”

She laughs, “Kit, I’d be honored.”

“Awesome, give me just a second to go place my order?”

“Oh, of course!” Her smile, I know because I check, is reaching her eyes and well beyond, and it never once slips as she slips into the booth. “I’ll be right here.”

It takes me no more than 5 minutes to make my way across the bar and back, excluding the 2 minutes it takes for me to get the new bartender’s attention, and as I take my seat, Kalysto raises something across the table. For a moment, I’m distracted watching her skin pop with muscles that are  _ just _ out of view when relaxed, but when I come back online, I manage to remember what she’d just said.

“I sat on your bag a little, sorry!” Her sweet laugh is also pretty distracting on it’s own.

“Thanks!” I almost coo, dropping it into the booth beside me, nearly spilling that damned collar out of it. Trying not to look too annoyed, I stuff it back in there. That’s universe, I didn’t need the reminder.

“So, I have a question for you.” Kalypso announces, leaning forward and resting her hands on her chin.

“Oh, you got new glasses!” I notice, suddenly, “You look great!”

“Thank you,” she giggles, for a fleeting moment, before her smile becomes almost solemn, “But, what I want to know is… When a bad witch sees a squirrel in the road, does she swerve?”


	12. Kalypso's Mixed Metaphors

I haven’t seen her in almost two months.

I haven’t seen her since I left her, standing on the sidewalk, staring at me as tears started to spill over the brink of her eyes. I’ve seen Aphra a few times, and I always make sure to greet that asshole the same way, at least in the last few weeks. I guess I can’t know for sure how I’d have greeted her while I was milked up.

She looks… Good, I think. I mean, she always looks great, including this DSA and overall number she’s wearing today. More generally, though, she looks healthy. She looks like she’s taken better care of herself in the last month and half than I had, though I doubt she can tell. After all, I’ve rebounded nice and hard in the last few weeks, and the majority of my worry now goes to whether or not I’ll be able to maintain these post-binge gains. 

And I… I’ve already done something that makes me feel uneasy.

But, lies of omission that you’re 95% sure they’ll appreciate, those are good. I think.

“Do I… Swerve?” Kit’s expression is a weird mix of confused frown and surprised gape. “It’s a squirrel?”

“No,” I correct, softly, “I’m asking if  _ bad _ witches, like your mother, would serve if they saw a squirrel in the road. Or, we can even lower the bar a little bit, and just ask if they’ll even slow down a little bit.”

“Is this what you spent over a month thinking about?” She jokes, her smile shines for too few moments. 

I shake my head, but other than that, I don’t want to offer anything else up, yet. Soon, probably later today or tomorrow, at the latest, I’ll tell her about all the chocolate milk st- The addiction I’d quietly had since Gothel handed me my first one all those months ago.

“Does a bad witch swerve, or even slow down, when they see a squirrel in the road?” She pushes again, but even as a server sets a glass of water in front of her, I can tell she’s just running over the thought in her head. “I… I guess it depends?”

“How so?” I murmur, my hands still folded together under my chin. 

“Mostly on whether they think they’ll manage to get ingredients out of it.” She huffs, “For instance -- I, you probably wanna stick on topic, sorry, I’ll --”

“No, no!” I shake my head, as soon as I can break in, “I’m a giant nerd, remember? I’d love to hear which ingredients from a dead squirrel an shitty witch might utilize.” 

“Oh, well,” she laughs, “Okay, so, squirrels tend to be full of energy, right? I guess it’s all that nervous hoarding, but, basically, almost everything on them has some magical capabilities, even if it’s just carrying capacity -- Their tails, for instance, are wonderful at holding good luck charms --”

“Or bad luck charms, or love charms, or --” I break in briefly.

“-- exactly! They’re wonderful for that. Moral witches…” She pauses, her lips puckering for a second at a particular thought.

“Moral witches,” I repeat, adding with more confidence than I’m sure off, “like you.”

“Well,” she pops her eyebrows, sighing before taking a sip of her water, “Moral witches, like me and better than me, would start by scavenging for squirrels that are already dead, and only turn to hunting if they absolutely couldn’t help it. Even then, there’s a particular spell that allows for painless deaths, at least in smaller animals. After that, we’d be able to access a squirrel’s eyes, it’s feet, and even it’s guts --”

“It guts?” I pull back, “What are a squirrel’s guts good for?”

“Not much,” Kit admits, “Their primary use is in low level health correction spells. Think of them like nature’s miralax.”

“What’s miralax?” I hum, cocking my head a little.

“Oh, it’s a kind of laxative.” Kit hums, before taking a drink of her water. “Their eyes are, I’ve heard, at least, very good for enhancement elixirs, whether strength, stamina, or otherwise, the obvious drawbacks still holding true.”

“Magically loosen your muscles to full capacity, you’re gonna tear some, magically enhance you’re stamina and you’re fit to collapse, and such?”

“Smart cookie.” Kit smiles, then some thought pops into her head and her cheeks dust ever so slightly darker. Another drink. “Anyway, there are tons of other uses for them, most of which hold across species variance. So, based on those descriptors, I guess, and whether or not said shitwitch would need squirrel parts at the time, or whether they wanted some in reserve…” she shrugs, “And whether or not they were needlessly cruel? I’d wager that, yeah, on some basic level, even the shittiest witch has some capacity for not being a total sadist.”

“Huh.” I reply. “Well, fair enough.”

“What about Fae?” She asks, and even though I should’ve seen it coming, I’m still taken aback. “Or, well, whatever the Fae equivalent to swerving around a squirrel would be?”

I have to think about that, just a little bit. “Would the worst Fae --”

“-- swerve to avoid killing something smaller than them for no reason, except that it’s the wrong thing to do?” She nods.

My first instinct is to go ahead and think of the absolute worst --

“Hey, Kal?” Kit interrupts, drawing my eyes upward as she sort of swirls her water around in her glass. “Would you --and you don’t have to, obviously-- but I’d like if you could share your thought process with me, here. Yeah?”

“Oh, sure!” I smile, adjusting in my seat so my back is straighter, my shoulders far less slumped, y’know, the usual stuff you do when you’re presenting, or whatever. “Okay. Sooo… My first instinct is to think of the absolute worst Fae that I can think of --”

“Which I imagine is probably who everyone thinks of.” Kit murmurs.

“Well, I’m hardly a moral authority,” I shrug, “But, historically, probably.”

“Anyone who’s smart agrees with you.” She adds, but I’m back on track by then.

“The worst Fae that I can think of was a man by the name of Niall Van Sittress.”

“Citrus?” Kit frowns.

“No, no, Sittress, it’s --” I give up, “Sure, Citrus, it’s spelled differently but, fuck him, anyway.”

“Fuck fruit.” Kit murmurs, a smile gracing her lips.

“Anyway,” I chuckle, “Niall Van Citrus was a Fae man who lived something like a thousand years ago, if my math isn’t totally wrong. He was a Magistrate --”

“Magistrate?”

“Well, this is gonna take some explaining.” I giggle, “How about you lemme know at the end if there’s anything you don’t get, but otherwise I’ll try to get everything explained out of the gate, okay?”

“Sounds faster.” Kit nods.

“Okay, so, Magistrate Niall Van Citrus was a Fae man who lived something like a thousand years ago. Magistrates are sort of like elected officials, except that there are just five of them to represent the millions of people who inhabit Ogygia, which is what we call the entire colony, which is just the combination of our various cities. Much like New York State, however, the biggest city is called Ogygia, and it’s name came to encompass all of us. As a result, the capital, as it were, of the Fairy colonies is Ogygia, Ogygia.”

“Isn’t Ogygia the name of the island from the --”

“The Kalypso myth? With Odysseus?” I smile, broadly, “Yes, yes it is.”

“Wasn’t the point that Odysseus ended up wanting out, even though what he had was something of a paradise?”

I shrug, “Honestly, not how we tell it, but Homer was a wizard, not a Fae, so there’s a solid chance we tell it differently than he did out of ancient spite or distaste.”

“Well.” Kit pops her eyebrows, before falling back into silence.

“Yeah, it’s…” I’m not sure where the thought comes from, but suddenly I’m wondering which character I’d be in the myth that popularized my name, “Anyhow, uhm…” Kalypso herself, bidding someone to stay with her forever, or Oddyseus, trapped on an island way from home, longing to go back?

“You okay?” Kit asks, just as I wrap up my train of thought with an answer.

“Yes.” I answer, confidently. Neither. “So, anyhow, back when he was a Magistrate, Niall would’ve been known as Magistrate Vas Ogygia, as he represented the entirety of that ward, and he would have been 1 of 4, at the time, not 5. Magistrate Vas Ogygia was, at first, deeply beloved by those who lived within the ward, and for good reason. He enacted a handful of wonderful policies, and began fighting to extend those policies throughout the colony, where he quickly rose in popularity, as well. The problem ended up becoming that --”

“What policies?” Kit wonders aloud, but doesn’t directly ask me. Not that there’s really much of any difference. 

“Oh,” I frown. “Without also giving you explanation of the societal structure from the top down at the time, it’s hard to feel particularly comfortable with ascribing what he was pushing to a particular human socioeconomic theory. But… Arguably, before he came to power, we were experimenting with a system that you could conflate with communism pretty well, no private ownership of anything, but with an element or two that was more capitalistic? I wouldn’t take anything I’ve just said as gospel, though, it’s a little more convoluted than that.”

“Fair enough,” she smiles, “I got a little more outta that than I was expecting anyhow.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at her mischievous little smile, even as my lips tilt upward, too. “Anyway, as I was saying --” Wait, what was I saying? Oh, right! “-- Magistrate Vas Ogygia pushed for a lot of popular policies, public ownership of properties that were utilized by more than a handful of folk, private ownership of others, like family or personal dwellings. Lotsa stuff that almost everyone liked. The richer Fae weren’t necessarily thrilled about it, but their options were limited at the time.”

A drop of water runs over her chin and down her throat, and my brain imagines a lot of dumb things in a few short seconds.

“Kaly?” She asks, as she absentmindedly brushes it away. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uh.” I blink, “Nothing.” I give a lighthearted shrug, “Nothing at all. But, what was up back when was that --” you’re goddamned right that was a great segue! “-- Vas Ogygia was really enjoying his power. And, for a time, he wielded it very, very well. Then, there was a crisis.”

“Yeah?” Kit frowns, and I immediately want to hug it away.

“This was before we perfected the spells that allowed us to shore up our immune systems and all that, plus back then we were still in relatively frequent contact with the outside world. So, a fairy went and caught Landica Plague--”

“Oh, lemme guess how they got it!” Kit hums, but before she can begin, I cut her off.

“Ah, you really don’t want to do that.” I shake my head. “You really, really don’t.”

“Why not? However they got it, I’m sure I can handle it.” She nods, very confidently.

I stare her dead in the face. I raise my eyebrows at her. “If you start guessing, I’m going to have to tell you and it is not dinner conversation.”

She stares me back, her eyes narrowing by the moment as she weighs, I’d wager, not whether she wants to, but what she wants to start with. “Well, that tells me it’s sex related, no one ever wants to talk about sex at dinner.”

I say nothing.

“So… Let’s see… Sex related, around 1020… Analingus?”

I can’t help but reel back a little bit, letting my eyes close. “Well, you’re really diving into guessing, huh? Nope.”

“No? S’Not buttmunching. Okay, so, maybe, like, some lactation thing? Or, oh, what about some kinda pee fetish.”

“Y’know,” I hum, “I can’t decide if it’s more concerning that you’re just willing to make these guesses in public or that this spell is translating them so perfectly. Neither. How about I just --”

“Oh, fairies shrink themselves down, right?” She’s getting there. “And, if this wasn’t, like, strictly same-sized sex, then… What would that be, like, giga-pussy diving?”

I say nothing. I fucking can’t. 

To tell you the truth, because I don’t know that I could come up with a believable lie, I can’t tell her that she’s wrong, because she's not, but neither could I bring myself to tell her jack shit, at all, because there are some… Amazing images rolling around in my brain right this second.

“Oh, Gods --” She gapes, “I was right?”

I remain quiet. 

“Wow, that’s like some fairy dildo stuff.”

Here, you’ll find the moment I find my tongue, all because I think I might be about to shock her, “You’re incorrectly assuming that Fae can’t also shrink their partners.”

And Goddess Above, does she ever real the hell back, her lips in a small oh.

“Do you mind if I just… Get on with the --?”

“Please do.” She nods, and I can’t help but observe that her cheeks are dusted with what no one would mistake for a slight blush.

“Wonderful. So, what we call Landica Plague, you probably know better as Bubonic. All it took was that one case, that no one is technically certain was  _ the _ case, and all of a sudden, there was a deadly outbreak of a quickly spreading disease among a densely packed population is our colony, as it quickly spread between cities. Vas Citrus saw his moment, and seemingly lost his fucking mind over night. He utilized a buncha made up statutes that no one had ever heard of to, ‘officially,’ oust the magistrates of Attica, Carrowkeel, and Loughcrew. At that time, there were only four, as the fifth, Erdini, didn’t come along until after the second Just War, and we’re just talking about the start of the first.”

“Oh, this was a Just Wars thing?” Kit almost hums with excitement, only to back down a second later. “I mean, they’re very interesting to learn about, although I’m sure they were brutal affairs.”

I shrug, “The first handful were during Niall Vas Ogygia’s time, and actually he caused more than a handful directly. They were fighting with less developed magic, swords, and trying to prove that they all, collectively, had the biggest dicks. There’s both humor and excitement there.”

“Oh, cool!” Kit smiles, perfectly baited.

“I mean, given it ran concurrent with one of the worst plagues of Fae history, it was still pretty damned deadly.” 

“Oh.” She frowns. “I feel like I just got set up.”

“You absolutely did.” I giggle, “Again, it’s long-passed history at this point, it’s not like if you laughed about Niall Van Citrus in the middle of a square, people would get mad at you, y’know? For that matter, there have been plenty of adaptations made and released about each and every single variation of the wars.”

“How many of them were there, again? Or did you never say?” Kit hums.

“It depends,” I sigh, “On so many different criteria for what you consider the end of one war, the beginning of another. Attica would often launch broad attacks on Carrowkeel and Ogygia just as they were starting peace talks, which would technically start a new war before the old one had even ended. And after either Attica or Carrowkeel had backed down from the other, they would turn their efforts back to Ogygia. Loughcrew, for it’s part, would get involved later, but the sides were constantly shifting. Some historians mark the end of wars by shifting allegiances, some mark only by when peace broke out for extended periods of time.

“If you go by the latter of those distinctions, then you would probably say that there 5 Great Just Wars.” I have to pause for a moment to check and make sure I’m counting right. “Yeah, 5.”

“And if you went by the other?” Kit asks, her eyes jumping over to one of the waiters as they make there was through the crowd with a big ol burger on a plate. “Oh, food!”

“Hey, Nellie!” I call out, reaching up to give her a wave. Nellie, for her part, glances up at me and eagerly smiles back. “Nellie,” I explain while she makes her way over, “is the only other Fae I know of who made their way to Boston after getting exed. I’m sure you know it’s not that common of a thing, but it’s a punishment that gets dished out… Every five years or so, I’d reckon? I’m not sure what Nellie got kicked out for --”

“Aye, it was before yer time.” Nellie announces in a brogue thicker than any actual Irishwoman. “Different land, too.”

At Kit’s blank look, I add, “I’m Ogygian, Nellie’s originally from Carrowkeel. Just about as far away from each other as any of the wards get, eh?”

“Aye.” She nods, before turning to Kit and setting her plate down. “‘Course, Kal here’s only been ou’ two yea’s or so. I’ve been out for a good long century, by now.”

“I didn’t know my mom had any Fae on staff.” Kit frowns, “Weird how some things slip by, right.”

If the situations were reversed, I’m sure I’d be giving Nellie the same look she’s giving me and Kit now, and after a solid five seconds of it, Kit breaks the silence with, “What?”

“D’yoo wannae tell ‘er?” Nellie’s brogue gets thicker when she tries to whisper, “Or --?”

I shrug. “You can go ahead. I doubt it’s that bigga deal.”

“Kiddo,” Nellie leans in, “Yer ma’s gaht two Fae on staff. The oth’one’s sittin’ across frem ye.” And with that, she bails out, heading back to her job.

“Wait, what?” Kit reacts immediately, “Since when?”

“Since…” I shrug, “Like, a day or two after I got excommunicated? Year and half, just under two years, ago?”

“Wait, and you didn’t tell me?” Kit looks scandalized.

“No?” I shrug, “First, because I didn’t realize Gothel was your mom until like two weeks ago. Second because, after that, I assumed  _ she _ ’d’ve told you.”

“ _ Huh _ .” Kit huffs, “It took you that long to realize Gothel was my mom? D’ya think she was my sister?”

“No,” I murmur, reaching up to scratch my chin, “I didn’t realize you two were related at all.”

“I --” Kit starts, and I will spare you the details of the five or so minutes it takes for her to regain her composure, as I sit with my hands folded in front of me, and several patrons wonder what the hell I just said that was so funny.

“Okay, okay, I’m good, I’m good.” Kit gasps, “I swear.”

“You should go ahead and eat your burger then, and I might finally get through this hypothetical about an asshole Fae and swerving for squirrels.”

“Gotta be honest,” Kit murmurs, just before she starts eating, “I’d forgotten that’s what this was about.”

“What every historian wants to hear:” I pause, raising my hand in an arch, “‘You made me forget what we were talking about!’” 

This time, Kit is working on not choking as she laughs, but it’s a pause all the same.

“So,” I say when she’s resumed her non-struggle munching, “The first of the main Just Wars was effectively a rebellion by the combined peoples of Attica, Carrowkeel, and Loughcrew. It could have ended there, if they’d all unified, brought everyone together, all of that. Of course,” I sigh, “Just as Ogygia’s not-yet-executed-or-deposed-Magistrate Vas Citrus, agreed to sit down to peace talks to end the suffering of the people, Attica’s significantly less popular Magistrate, a woman by the name of Riona Vas Gloh, turned her armies on Carrowkeel’s Magistrate Vas Fina, and Loughcrew’s Vas Smile.”

“Vas Smile?” Kit laughs, though not enough to almost choke herself, this time. “Did they always smile?”

“The Smile family is still one of the most revered and powerful families in the entire colony.” I declare, squaring my shoulders in faux-pride, and then quickly dropping, “They never smile. Not one of them, ever. Freaky shit.”

I think it’d be fair to say that I’m starting to get drunk on her giggle. Just when you start to think it’s hit you in every way it can, she has to throw a hand up to keep from feeling gross, and you’re reminded just how dorky your favorite person is. 

“So,” I slip back into explanation mode, “Vases Smile, Fina, and Gloh all effectively turn on each other at once, and a smaller sect of the war breaks out. While those three are doing that,” I group three finger together and press them against the table, “Vas Citrus is over here,” one finger on the opposite side of the table, “quietly rebuilding his army, reenlisting his troops, and every once in a while sending each of the three other magistrates a message that reassured them he was not going to attack while their forces were preoccupied with one another.

“And then he attacked while their forces were preoccupied with one another... If you walk into any single library in any single city in the colony, you’ll find a book called --okay, well, you won’t be able to find it unless you cast a Fae Tongues spell on yourself, but you get the idea-- Whispers from The Land Afar. On the winter solstice, which is naturally the same day no matter what calender you use, Vas Citrus locates bulk forces from Attica and Loughcrew, at battle with one another just outside the capital city of Carrowkeel, whom they’d both thought to attack at the same time, and utilizes the poor weather conditions to sneak the majority of his own army overhead.

“Out of sight, they wait, and then just as it’s looking like attacking Atticans and Loughcrew have fully exhausted themselves and the defending Carrowkeelians, he orders a all-out attack. It was an absolute bloodbath. Of the militaries who had amassed there that day, I think it was some crazy high percentage like 45% who died or went missing and were never found. I don’t recall the exact number of casualties, because that never stood out when I read about it, but that number, 45, that sticks in my head.”

Our table is very, very quiet for a few minutes.

Eventually, Kit’s hand makes it way across the table to mine, and after a quick squeeze, I let out a long breath. “Anyway, I bring the book up because it’s title,  _ Whispers from the Land Afar _ , is a reference to popular news at the time, which said you could hear the screams all the way across the colony, in Ogygia, as whispers of woe. There are still Fae alive today who survived that battle, and they are not fond of going over it in detail, particularly Ogygians.”

She nods. “Sounds fair. Is, uhm, is that kind of thing common in Fae wars?”

“The ambush style? Yeah, it happens anytime anyone can pull it off. The utter brutality and it’s position as a battle in our history comes largely from a moment that happened when Vas Citrus, who was overseeing the battle personally, received announcements from all 3 commanding officers that their respective armies were surrendering. He chose to order the attack to continue. When he arrived home to Ogygia, late the next day, the war technically ended, he expected a hero’s welcome, and got a riot instead.

“Overnight, based on the messages that soldiers had sent home, that had disseminated, he went from being one of the most beloved politicians of several lifetimes to the most hated man in every single city. Try as they might have, his personal guard and the military members who were still willing to fight for him weren’t enough to stop a mob from getting a hold of him and ending his tenure on the planet.”

“So,” Kit says, nearly done with her sandwich, “That was the first war?”

I decide to be a bit dramatic, leaning my head forward and pressing my cheek to the cool table. “You’d have thought so, right?”

“Oh, no… Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I pop back up, “Her army in tatters and the colony mourning around her, having just heard that Vas Citrus had become Van Citrus and been executed, Vas Gloh took her smeared and weary forces and launched a direct attack on the only other army in as bad a shape as her own, Vas Fina’s. By then, the outbreak had ended, and their ranks grew as people started feeling comfortable reaching out into the wider world again, recruiting more witches to become Fae. Easy path to citizenry, serving your city in the Just Wars.”

“Okay.” Kit nods. “You’ve given me a lot of information. Would Vas Citrus --”

“ _ Van _ Citrus.” I whisper-shout, though I don’t necessarily want to explain.

“-- Van Citrus swerve to avoid a squirrel.”

“Oh, probably not.” I answer immediately. “I didn’t even mention the things he started doing domestically while the war was on; Forced conscripture, public torture of those who wouldn’t serve in his army, there were a lot of reasons to not like him, but most people were too afraid of speaking out until he went and committed a masacre, then hating him became really popular. Although, honestly, if I extrapolate a little further and really dive deep into Fae culture as a whole, I could probably find someone who was just as bad if not worse than Van Citrus, but would swerve to save a squirrel’s life. Metaphorically.”

“Is that a metaphor?” Kit asks, “Doesn’t it have to be a direct correlation with something else in order to be a metaphor?”

I freely shrug, casting a wide smile at her, “I honestly don’t know.” 

“Alright. So, just one question, what’s the difference between Vas and Van?” Kit asks, and I start cursing in my head, because I’m not about to  _ not _ explain it to her…

“Okay, a small bit of context first, the translation doesn’t come out to english, fully, those are just the words that the spell picked.” I pause, waiting for her to nod so I know when I can proceed with the pain. “The effective translation for, ‘Vas,’ would be, ‘of the,’ I guess? So, in most cases, Citrus was Magistrate, ‘of the,’ Ogygia. Before that, he was Niall, ‘of the,’ Citrus. Following so far?”

“Yup.” Kit replies, doing a little pop thing with her lips that makes this next part a little easier, because I’m here, with her, and she wants to hear about one of my favorite subjects. Maybe it’ll get boring one day, and it’ll hurt in some places, but she wants to hear. That’s what counts.

“Van, on the other hand, translates best as, ‘from the.’”

Kit frowns, “I don’t get the distinction.”

“Well... It was basically a way of socially excommunicating someone, before that was, y’know, a thing. When you’re…” I inhale, because there are so many, many examples that I could chose to use, but there’s only one that will land well with the woman across the table, “When you’re Kalypso Vas Sunágō, that means you’re a member, ‘of the,’ Sunágō family. Post excommunication, you’d be…” I tilt my head, silently folding my arms in front of me, 

“Kalypso Van Sun-ah-go.” Kit tries, really tries, but she still manages to make the slip I’d bet most people would make.

“Suh-nay-goh.” I nudge, even as half the word catches in my throat. “Kalypso Van Sunágō. It’s Greek.”

“Just like most of you.” Kit tries, stretching across the table to rub my arm. “Y’know, except the Fae bit.”

I give her a light shrug. “It’s an ancient, old Greek word. It was chosen by some ancestors before half of the Fae alive today were even born.”

“What does it mean?” Kit murmurs anyway, “Sunago?”

She’ll get there someday, I’d bet. Either way, I shake my head, pursing my lips together.

“I don’t want to pressure you too much,” she says, “So after this, I want you to know, I won’t ask you again… But, I’d really like to know what it means, and I want to hear it from you. What does it mean to you?”

I don’t really know how it happened, but somewhere along the line, that danged witch who lives across the hall must have really started to understand me. And, understand how to talk me into saying things I know will hurt.

“Sunágō,” I can’t force it out any louder than a whisper, this time, “means…”

I swallow, tilt my chin. As she wraps my hand in hers, I meet her shining silver eyes, and I squeeze when she reminds me she’s here.

“Together.”


	13. Kit's To Find a Good Place

When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time locked in my mom’s basement. I guess I should clarify that I locked myself in there, not the other way around, and the result was that my mom spent a lot of time annoyed that I wasn’t doing anything with myself outside of school, and I responded by being annoyed at her for trying to make me do things that I just had no interest in trying.

The other side-affect, however, was spending  _ a lot _ of time on computers. The first one I ever used was a massive piece of junk, proper 90s style hardbooter with dialup. As I suppose is always the case with technology, my access to the internet got better and better with each successive jump in computer, generally brought about by my asking mom for a new computer, me breaking the old computer via some fun little software fuckery, and then my getting that new computer I’d asked for, anyhow.

In all that time that I spent on computers, I don’t really think I ever learned anything that actually ended up helping me in life. I learned a lot about editing videoes for the YouTube channel I was going to start when I was 12, then I learned a lot about how to do makeup that I hated from other YouTubers, and eventually, I dropped off of using it away from my phone because, well, I was kind of doing magical shit by then. I did go on Tumblr and read a ton of Twilight fics were Bella was less  _ vampire layer _ and more  _ vampire slayer _ , so that was good.

I wonder how many people have ever said to themselves, ‘That thing I learned from Tumblr was 100%, uncomplicatedly good for me to have learned, and I do not regret having learned it in the fashion that I did. My life is better now because of Tumblr.’ because I kind of, honestly, I think it’s in the low-double-digits. 

But, I do have to add myself to that list; The thing that I learned from Tumblr was entirely, straightforwardly good for me to have gotten a better understanding of, and I would not take back the variety of searches that led me to that information, if I could. Because of Tumblr’s messaging boards, my life has become slightly better.

The thing that I learned on Tumblr was sexualities. 

Now, I’ll tell you, I’m your garden variety dyke. I am a woman, I happen to be one of those weird ladies who was assigned the proper gender at birth and didn’t need to transition away from or towards this one, who happens to really, really like other women, regardless of whatever assignment they got at birth. And, as a woman who likes to love women, I feel I am simultaneously uniquely qualified and generally the worst possible person to try to lay out the various sexualities I learned about from my years on Tumblr, which ended in 2010 anyway.

Such a different beast, 2010 Tumblr. How we miss those… Female assigned nipples.

Anyhow, lacking as my qualifications certainly are, allow me to give you the general overview, as I understand it.

Shit You Find In Your Garden: Straight, Bi, Gay, Lesbian.

You know these ones, you can walk outside and your odds of finding one of these are based more on population density than random statistics about presentation within the population (Did I say that right?). Apparently, I did.

Mystical Creatures Found Only Outside of the Box You Put Yourself In: Literally everyone else.

Off the top of my head, without going to my phone to check google to ensure that I’m not totally lying to your faces, there exist your demisexuals, your asexuals, your pansexuals, and your typical human being: None Of Your Fucking Business sexuals.

For those who don’t know, demi generally refers to people who need to form a romantic connection before sexual attraction starts to happen, ace generally refers to people who don’t usually experience or enjoy the experience of sexual attraction, and pan usually refers to a sexual attraction to everyone or, at the least, doesn’t typically exclude anyone from being hot.

I am not any of these things, generally. I’ve wanted to climb Kal since I saw her, which rules out the first two, and I see enough shirtless men to know that my version of Tumblr only bans male-resenting nipps.

There are a variety of others, of course, that break it down even more, and this is where you’ll find out why the hell I’ve spent so much time peeling this fugging onion.

There are, to generalize, a ton of different ways that sexual and romantic attraction differ, such as gay men who experience romantic attraction to both genders, and people who love to bang but generally don’t experience romantic attraction in any form. Now, personally, these aren’t my cups of tea, as I’m sure you’ll have noticed by now. I am thirsty, and I like my tea a specific way.

There are also cupiosexuals, ace people who don’t experience sexual attraction but still have sex drives. I think that sounds like a special kind of hell, personally, but I hope everyone can find peace and happiness in any form that suits them.

I was told that I’m not allowed to let this be too long, and it’s kind of already super long, so lemme wrap this up and get back to the point, by informing you of the existence of what’s known as a sapiosexual.

Now, honestly, I don’t know if that’s actually a real thing, because I’ve dated and had sex with some reeeeeeeeeally stupid people. Like, ‘Hey, you didn’t die as you were getting out of my bed, great job!’ kinda stupid. I found those people hot. Like, even as I recognized that they were dumb as shit. Still hot.

Kalypso is hot, like regularly, before she opens her mouth. This is generally true and, as she sits across from me, now, after just a month on a ramped up workout regiment or whatever, it’s even more obvious. I’m pretty sure I already pretty well defined for you in what ways she’s attractive, but just in case you missed something, allow me to summarize.

I’m only pretty sure that she couldn’t crush my head with her thighs, but I wanna see if I can make her do it, anyway. 

Again, that’s all before this gorgeous, strong woman across me even starts speaking. When she does, whether it’s about accidentally sitting on my purse or about the history of an entire war that she could totally just be making up because it’s not like I have any way to check her frames of reference, she sounds like she’s actually putting thought into just about everything she says. When she speaks about languages or the usefulness of a squirrel’s tail, or even when she’s just taking a question from me and playing around with it in her head, I absolutely adore the way she talks. 

If I’m being completely candid here, I’d probably ask her if she wanted to come back to my place tonight. Except, I might’ve asked her the second I saw her and, honestly, I think she’d say no. 

What is it with not being a total dumbass and also, like, having respect for your partners and your relationships, y’know? Is there even a real correlation there, or is it some kind of causation bullshit?

And why,  _ why _ , does that just make me want her more right now?

The part that I don’t understand, the part that I usually feel like I’m missing, however, is the part of my brain that’s prodding me and saying that I don’t need her to fuck me tonight, if I can be so crude. I’d be happy just to share a bed with her, snuggle up beside her and hold her, or let her hold me. 

Her arms are crossed in front of her, but I’ve slid around just enough of the booth to stretch out and slip her hand into mine. It’s not a particularly easy do, believe you me, because this table is not small, but my arm sure the fuck is.

“Sunágō… It means… Together.” She’s just said, and something in my chest is trying desperately to force my butt outta this seat, around the table, and into her arms. I’d imagine Kalypso would be more or less fine with that, but I have less confidence in my ability to hold back tonight than I’ve had in the last 6 weeks, and I spent that entire time reflecting on my actions, choices, and the morality therein of each and every thought.

I would guess that morality, tonight, would mean more cuddles than orgasms, but I don’t really care about that, just now.

“It’s a beautiful last name, Kal.” I whisper, “I know it must hurt, missing them like you do.”

“So, so badly.” She whispers with a crack, and I can’t keep my ass planted any more. The bar around us is picking up in participation and partypower, so I’m sure anyone who does notice the two women chatting in the booth thinks very little of it, even as I swing myself out of one side and into the other.

Within a moment of my coming to her side, Kal’s scooted herself over, and made room for me beside her so that I could snuggle up to her while she wraps one of her arms around my shoulder. The best I can manage, for now, is to not-entirely comfortably snake my arms around her waist. 

“Thanks,” Kalypso whispers down to my head, as I press my ear into her shoulder so I can look up at her. “I really needed the hug.”

“I could tell.” I whisper back, but I’m not really inclined to ask her anything or push for any more information from her afterward. As is, the last bit I asked for also made her cry, so, points offa my morality scale, already. “Sorry about --”

“No.” Kal murmurs down to me, and I have just enough time to think about how well I can hear her before she keeps on, and I realize it’s because her lips are nearly kissing my forehead. “It… Felt good to share. I haven’t even said my real name since I got kicked out, and I missed it. A lot. So, thank you, Kit, so much, for kind of… Making me open up a little bit.”

I only offer a shrug out from under her arm and a slight squeeze to her waist in response.

“I was wondering,” Kal adds, “If I could tell you a little about my family, too? It’s not as exciting as, you know, wars and battles, and not half as intriguing as your family and coven things.”

“I’d love to hear a little bit about your family, baby.” I smile, then freeze. Not her girlfriend, not her girlfriend, not her girlfriend, not her girlfriend, not her girl --

“Okay, then. I think the best place to start, the most obvious, would be Dione.” Whether Kal glosses over it or she doesn’t mind at all, I couldn’t tell you for sure, but I can say that my mouth is going to be on lockdown around her from now the fuck on. “She’s the only one you know, really, and even then, it wasn’t that extensive a conversation, was it?”

“No,” I shake my head, enjoying the feel of her skin against my cheek, even if it’s just her shoulder. “And, on top of that, whatever spell she used at first made her sound like a broken robot. The second one made her sound like a posh asshole, which was kind of hilarious.”

“That does sound… Awesome.” Kal laughs, a sound that I’ve somehow failed to experience from this close up until now. A word from the wise; When you think something you love can’t get better, get ready to be wrong. “So, I suppose the next thing to figure out is where to start with me and Dee.”

I shrug, “You can just tell me about her life, what she’s like, what she does, that sort of thing.”

“You wouldn’t mind the lack of, ‘me,’ in all the details?” Kal smirks, and even though she’s joking, I have to throw her an honest reply.

“Your details show up best when you’re not talking about yourself.” I hum, pulling myself a little closer to her. “Go ahead?”

I’m not sure that I’ve seen this expression on her face, before now, half of it staring at me like some profound creature and half of it looking every part the fairy that caught the cat, but I like it. No, scratch that, use the other l word.

“Okay, well… As I’d bet Dione told you, she and I are twins.” Another thing I love; Kalypso pauses when I nod, almost like she’s checking to see if I have anything to say, before continuing, “What I bet she didn’t tell you is that she’s older than I am by about 15 minutes, give or take, because she absolutely detests people trying to hold her up as some responsible, elder sage. Especially when I do it. In her own words, when other people do it, it’s like them mocking her for having taken a different path than I did, one that doesn’t have quite so many accolades or praise-worthy opportunities. Yet, when I do it, it’s like I’m leaning down from on-high, smearing my Magistrate-Recognized work in her face.”

Kalypso has a talent that I don’t think many people might appreciate, but I can’t stop staring at her for it.

“She knows that’s not how I am, mind you, but she’s a much more heart on her sleeve kind of Fae. When Penelope, that’s her wife, and she were first getting together, it took them ages and ages to finally get around to it, but Penny knew from the second she first saw Dee that Dione really, really liked her. I think she turned to me and said something like, ‘That girl right there? I bet I marry her one day.’”

“Woah, what?” I laugh, “That’s brave for, what, a teenager?”

“Oh,” Kalpso laughs, kind and generous for sharing, “No, we were not teenagers. More like… I think we’d’ve been about 7 or 8 years old. First day of proper school, after they do all of the teambuilding stuff, they send us to First Form. I met Penny on the first day, and fell deep into best friendship with her, but Dione, who felt like she was gonna throw up, had stopped by the nurse to have her system given a quick check to avoid any unnecessary memories. Penny and I were standing in the middle of the school’s auditormy, just this stupidly big room that could fit like five of these restaurants into it, when Dione walked in.”

“And then the line?” I nod, nuzzling against her shoulder. “Did you take that bet?”

“Oh, hells no.” She laughs, “I’d already dreamt it.”

“Sorry?” I frown. “Dreamt it?”

Kalypso almost pouts and cocks her head away from me. Her eyes seem to sort of scan the inside of her forehead, like she’s looking for a memory she swore she had, and she’s sullen when she comes up empty. “Okay, my bad. I thought I’d mentioned it at some point, but I have… Premonitions, sometimes. As dreams.”

“Ah, the classic Dream Oracle. Depending on the genre of movie you find yourself in,” I giggle, “you could be the star of the show, Kal.”

“Eh, there usually not about me.”

“Would you share a couple?” I murmur, tilting my head away from her when I suddenly realize I’m halfway towards drifting off against her.

“Sure.” Kal nods, her hand lazily rubbing along my shoulders. “Most of them aren’t too serious. Some of them are. I’ll leave the Penny and Dio one for last, and start with something a little more simple. The week before my first day of school, not First Form, I dreamt that a kid would push me off of the playground. I had this whole huge hissyfit the night before, about not wanting to go to sleep because if I had the dream again, then it was  _ for sure _ going to happen.”

When she turns to me, I take the bait and ask, “Did you have the dream? Did it happen?”

“Yes,” she answers, immediately, “I had the dream again. But, although I was very much so pushed off of the playground, it was not the little boy I’d dreamt it would be. Instead, Dione was irritated I’d spent a week whining about it and, as our time outside was about to end, it still hadn’t happened. So, she decided to make it happen.”

I appreciate the little pause Kal takes to let me get a proper laugh in, and after a second, she decides to join me too. For a moment, the universe is just the two of us, sitting in a bar booth, laughing about a memory only one of us has. Except we’ll both have this one, this moment, forever.

“That day,” she explains once we’ve calmed down, “was how I started piecing together that my dreams aren’t entirely locked in place. More… Prophetic, with some wiggle room. A few years down the line, I learned another thing, too, that the longer I had a dream for, the more likely it was going to be accurate. For about… A solid year, I’d wager, I had the same dream, over and over again, about the day that Penelope and Dione would  _ finally _ let themselves get together. Here I was, a big dummy, sitting around with my sister after school everyday, reading the same book over and over again, while she drew dozens and dozens of sketches of the love of her life, and they were never the one from the dream. Over and over, and oooover. Until one day, she drew the right one, and I ran with it.”

“You ran with it?” I hum. “ _ You _ ran with your sister getting asked, or asking someone, out?”

“See, this dream involved a few things; One, Penelope had to be walking out of the building about 25 minutes late. A group of kids had to have asked me to play a game that’s not terribly unlike kickball but with magic, and I always irritated Dione into finally figuring out how to flick a target with her wand instead of throwing herself skyward.”

“Oh!” I giggle, “So you went for a free flight that day?”

“I did, I did!” Kal smiles, broader than any barn you’ve ever seen. “Then, I had to pull Penelope over, get the hell outta there, and finally let them get over whatever had been in their way since Early Form. Honestly, though, I tried to get that dream right so many times that I’m pretty sure Dione was starting to think I was going crazy. Or, just way more of an asshole than she’d grown up around me being.”

“Well, you’re definitely not an asshole.” I murmur, freeing one of my hands to trace her side with a buncha nonsense. “Okay, I feel like I’ve got the idea. I wanna hear about this wedding dream.”

“It started happening like, a month before our first day, and it popped up pretty consistently, about once per --” Another word I can’t make any sense of, “-- which is about once every six gregorian weeks. The gist of it is that I was standing to my sister’s right, dressed up in some gorgeous orange number, or so 7ish year old me thought, while my sister wore green, and across the circle, Penelope wore a lovely icey blue and her… Idk, generic female relative wore red. I never figured out who that was.”

“Circle?”

“Ah, a super traditional Fae wedding ceremony. I  _ think _ the Quakers’ religion does something vaguely similar, but I’d need to look into it more. It’s stereotypical of us, I gather, but the dresses or suits are meant to represent the various seasons; A blue for winter, a green for spring, an orange for fall, and a red for summer. It doesn’t really matter who wears what color, they’re not meant to, like, symbolize anything about the pairing, necessarily. Just as long as they’re all involved, tradition is satisfied.”

I catch her eye roll over one of those last words, not that she tries to hide it, and I nudge into her a little bit, “As long as the dead people can successfully peer pressure us, all is well in the world, right?”

“Right,” she smiles, absently pulling me closer, “Those danged dead people. Or, in the Faes case, mostly-alive people who are just old and used to a certain thing. We’re lucky we got ourselves sorted when we did; These days, it’s harder to change the things that aren’t working in society, because it’s just what so many people are used to.”

“How was it?” I murmur.

“How was what?” The quick switch between Kaly’s lighthearted mood and this, quiet and mumbly, is almost a shock.

“The wedding?” I whisper, but I don’t need her to say another word once she turns her eyes on me, far past overflowing with tears. She wasn’t there. Because she was here. “Oh, sweetheart!” And now, it doesn’t matter that I’m not her girlfriend, because I’m far too busy scrambling onto my knees beside her. This way, I’m facing her far better, where she can press her teary face into my shoulder, and I can stroke the back of her neck.

Kaly is a strong, strong Fae. She’s not a fan of crying, but everyone needs a good, long cry every once in a while, don’t they? No matter how far from human they’ve become. 

It takes a good, long while for her to cry herself out, and by the time she does, my thighs have gone sore from kneeling, and I’ve taken to humming near her ear to try and help her calm down a little bit. All the while, any worry I might’ve had about people staring, I get to dismiss entirely, as everyone around us gets drunker and drunker, and cares less and less.

“Are you feeling a little better?” I eventually get to murmur to her. “Good cries, y’know?”

“Yeah,” she sniffles over a wide grin. “Thank you, Kit. I really, really appreciate you giving me the chance to open up. And the time, too. Curious little cat like you, must’ve killed you to wait, huh?”

“Oh, I was fine. Besides, you make the wait worth every week.” I sigh, “Do you feel up to talking any more? You look a little tired.”

“Ugh, no…” Kaly murmurs, but she pulls me a little closer all the same, “I… I’ve had a bit of a long day, so I think I’m just gonna get headed home, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” I coo, “Of course. Lemme just --”

“Oh, don’t leave on my account.” Kalypso hums, squeezing me tighter to her for a second. “I’ll be fine making it home on my own.”

“Kaly, I --” I get cut off by my own gasp, as one arm scoops behind my legs and the other gently tugs my shoulders rightward, and Kalypso scoops me up bridal style before very carefully making her way totally to her feet and turning, setting me back on own, now very wobbly, feet. “Okay…” I whisper to myself, “Wow.”

“I’ll be okay.” Kaly reassures me again, giving me one last quick hug before turning to leave.

But, I will not be denied. As she’s turning, I do my best to be gentle when I catch her wrist and tug her back, until I have a chance to wrap my arms around her from behind. “Hey!” I half shout.

This finally seems to break her out of whatever stupor she’s been in since her good cry a moment ago, and I manage to get her to turn around so I can look her in the face when I say, “If you wanna walk home alone, that’s fine, I don’t mind that either. But I only came to talk to my mom, and she ditched me hours ago. Since you got here, I’ve only been here because you were here. Now, I’m not asking to revive movie nights or anything, but I would vastly prefer walking home with you to walking home alone, myself. If you’d still rather head home alone, I really, really don’t mind, I’ll just go harass my mom for twenty minutes about ditching me earlier.”

“I… Would love to walk home with you…” Kalypso whispers, and if you were me, you might forgive me for thinking that her eyes were literally shining. “Uhm, you should probably still say goodnight to your mom, though. I can wait here for you, no problems.”

I nod, “You’re sure? I really won’t mind if you head out alone, either.”

“Really sure.” Kalypso answers immediately, a big smile taking over her face. “Just go say goodnight and we can get going!”

Finding my mom doesn’t take too terribly long, as it happens. As soon as I turn from Kaly and look up, my eyes meet an icy stare. Unreadable, masked, cautious, those eyes. At this rowdy time of night, it takes a solid three minutes to struggle my way across the crowded space, but I do eventually make my way to her, leaning over the bar, resting her weight on her elbows.

“Kit.” My mom greets me, and I’m almost in such a good mood, that I miss the change.

“... Mom?” I have to half-shout over the loud chatter coming from all around us. “Did you just call --”

“Yes, yes.” She rolls her eyes almost fiercely, “Consider it… A concession, of sorts.”

“A concession for what?” I frown.

“The morality argument.” She replies simply, and if you’re as sure as I am about what she means by that, then allow me to speak for the both of us when I say --

“What the fuck is the morality argument?”

I can’t actually hear the air that escapes her lungs here, but I can see her falling chest, and her rolling eyes. “All of my suggestions that you take human morality a little less seriously. After a few centuries of hanging around here, you’ll start to develop a very keen sense for when you’ve lost, too. And I’ve lost.” 

“Alright, are you drunk?” I ask her, point blank.

But she shakes her head, “Nope. Don’t drink your own supply, darling, it’s a waste of twice the money you paid for it... I just have a pair of eyes, and I know Kalypso very, very well. I know you even better. I suppose I could keep haranging you over and over about ditching her and adjusting your morality, but I don’t really think there’s any point. So, I’ll stop calling you Katianna, because there’s really no reason to try to antagonize you so much.” She shrugs, “Who knows, we might even get to have a friendship if we’re not constantly trying to win any kind of argument. That’d be a good place to find.”

I don’t know about drunk, anymore, but she’s gotta be high on something.

“Okay, well, try not to sequester yourself away from your staff tonight, okay? Let them keep half of an eye on you, wouldn’t you, please?”

“No promises. Have a good night, Kit. Stay safe.”

I hang there for few, weighted moments before I reply, “Good night, Gothel.”

“What was that all about?” Kaly asks once I’ve made my way back over to her, “She looks so… Morose? Morose seems like a good word for that look.”

I just shrug, “Some kind of dream that didn’t come true, I think? Shall we?”

My heart stops when Kal’s hand drops low, and scoops mine up into it, and it starts pounding a mile a moment when adjusts her grip so it’s more comfortable for me.

“We shall.” She smiles.

Our walk home doesn’t last nearly as long as I wish it would. You might think that I’d have hundreds of questions that I’m eager to take the chance to throw at her under a quiet, starry night’s sky, but instead we walk in total silence. I know it’s probably just the romantic in me, but I still can’t help but pull Kaly’s arm closer to me and slip my free arm around it, so I can hold it just as close. The only reaction I get from Kaly is a smile when I do it, though, so I decide to let the romantic in me keep on hoping away. 

The sounds of the city on a warm, Friday night are louder than I might like, but they don’t stop me from bathing in the pattern of our footsteps. 

It’s a handful of moments that could last all night, all week, all of the next months and years of the next eon of eternity, and I’m not sure I would ever have enough of them, but because time doesn’t quite work that way, our walk does inevitably reach our building. Kalypso, one arm freer than I have, swipes her card to pop the door, and I hold onto her for dear, pleasurable life, until we reach the eastern stairs and I cannot possibly cling safely to her any longer. 

So we climb, virtually side by side, our hands still loosely linked together by fingers that just don’t know when to quit. 

Much like the building itself, the third floor comes all too soon. 

Our doors come all too soon.

“So,” Kalypso starts, turning herself toward me in the hallway, “I guess this is goodnight then?”

Deep down in my soul, standing there in the hallways, a few feet away from her, staring up into those kind, enticing kaleidoscopes I just know that there’s no way that Kalypso would reject me just now. That if I stood on my tip toes and wrapped my arms around her neck, if I just pulled ever so slightly, she would meet me eagerly, take me into her arms and I would finally get to call her mine.

But after the discussions we’ve had tonight, I can’t convince myself that it wouldn’t be the most selfish, assholish thing I’ve ever done. Certainly, it’s nothing she deserves.

“Yeah,” I end up saying, trying not to look too terribly sad, succeeding (I think) in not letting her know just how much I want to repeat those positions from the bar, but curled up in bed, with her, tonight. “It’s goodnight, I think.”

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” The question hits me out of the blue, and if I weren’t still holding her hand, I think it might’ve knocked me on my ass.

“Not just now, no?” I hum, “Any particular reason why?”

“Would you have lunch with me?” She smiles, “Or pretend. Either way.”

I couldn’t stop my smile from breaking out on my lips if I tried my absolute hardest. “I’m not sure anything would make me happier, Kal.”

“Well, great, then.” She smiles, pulling me in for one last hug. “Get some sleep then, okay?”

“I will.” I smile, so dreadfully aware of the moment that our fingers break apart, longing already to hold her hand again. “You too, Kal. Goodnight?”

She nods, and the door to her apartment is already swinging shut. “Goodnight, Kittycat~”

I just manage to catch her eye roll as I call out, “Night, fairydust!” 

When I step into my own apartment, I’m far beyond ready to fall into bed, and I begin the process by setting my bag on the hook just behind the door, entirely unaware of how the bag is ever, ever so slightly lighter than it was before I left.


	14. Kalypso's Are You Ready

When I dream that night, I have the one about cuddling Kit into me again, making her my little spoon. There are some differences that I notice tonight, over the course of the dream, that I haven’t before; What I’m wearing, the state of her hair, how happy and giggly and sleepy she seems, and about the fact that I need to use the bathroom at all.

When I wake up in the morning, I adjust myself onto my back, wiggling my hips and lifting my shoulders about to get as comfortable as possible, and fluffing the pillow under my head as I stretch my hand out and wrap it around a small, ever so slightly curved, item. Overnight, sitting on my nightstand, it’s gotten a little cooler than I have, laying under the covers near the open window. 

For a little while, I just play with it in my fingers, and think.

I had so many, many more questions that I’d meant to ask Kit at dinner last night. Questions about the morality of witches, covering ideas like resurrection, cheating death at the last second, and transforming deceased bodies back into energy, among many other topics that were less morbid. It’s sort of my fault that we never really got around to them, but now that I’ve had a night to sleep on it, I can’t help but wonder if any single solitary moment actually meant anything in the way of figuring out how I feel about all of this. 

Mainly, about the lying, about the… The everything. 

I don’t need another apology, one affected by time, to come to a definitive conclusion on the matter, I think. Every moment of that argument is sort of etched into my head, given I had nightmares about it for weeks. Excluding the moments where the nightmares were so strong, however, leaves me with the memory of a woman who looked genuinely sorry and remorseful.

With a sigh, I climb out of bed, I push my feet into the remnants of a once plush carpet, and arch my back. After almost 9 solid hours of sleep, you’d think I’d feel a little achy or have a bit of trouble waking up, but my body is perfectly in tune with my brain today, and it isn’t wasting time with that shit. Instead, as I push upward and make my way into the kitchen, gliding my feet into my slippers by the light from the window, I feel the best I’ve physically felt in over two years. 

Still, I keep playing with the little thing in my hands. 

What would I do, right now, if I wandered over there and found her doing something truly horrible, anyway? My first instinct would probably be to wonder who kidnapped the real Kit and replaced her with this shittier one, and I think that’s maybe a solid enough answer on it’s own.

Even still, I have to force myself to wonder would I would do it it truly was her, if she were really the one committing some horrifying act -- Like on the fly resurrection, just as likely to kill the twenty closest people and do nothing as it is to bring the person back to life. Dangerous as hell, that was. Would I even bother interrupting her, I wonder, or would I march up to her side and do my fucking damnedest to make sure it goes off without a hitch?

I don’t have any chocolate milk in my fridge anymore, for good reason. Instead, per Google’s recommendation, I quickly poor the boiling hot water into a small glass, and then dip the little bag into it. I don’t remember how long this particular box of tea said to let it sit, so I press my back against the counter’s edge and hum to myself, instead, determined to wait at least 4 minutes before I remove the tea’s bag and get to sipping. 

The answer’s right there, in front of me, isn’t it? Sitting there in front of me the same way it has been for the better part of the last few weeks. Right there in the memories from that day.

Even though google says not to, I still end up adding just a tiny splash of plain milk to it, something that used to be common among Faefolk when we still consumed food for energy, and tea used to be a big part of that. Tea and some kind of pastry product, I think. 

As I sip my milk tea and just lean against the counter, I can’t help looking around my apartment, now, and comparing it with how I had it set up previously. The tv stand in the corner has become a general entertainment center, as I learned how to wall mount a huge television like that, and replaced the old tv stand with something more suited to not having anything sit atop of it. Of course, I got some small pieces of artwork just to liven it up a little bit, above the PlayStations and the Switch. Opposite that, turning my bed so it sits parallel with the window, up against the other wall, and moving the nightstand around along with it, feels like just as good a change, letting me sit my couch a little further back from the tv and giving me room to actually stretch my legs without kicking the shit outta the coffee table. 

It doesn’t feel quite perfect, just yet, but it feels a little more roomy, like home used to be. You have to love that.

Oh, and I smashed the microwave. It was a good way to get some of my own self-resentment out in the form of physical activity. Shame for the microwave, though, symbol of my addiction as it were. 

When I set my glass in the sink a few minutes later, I finally let myself check the clock; And let out a soft chuckle at seeing that it’s so early in the morning, not even 730, yet. Still that gives me plenty of time to get ready, even if I don’t intend on taking all of it.

I take a nice, long, hot shower, letting the falling water warm my skin up as I scrub away a layer of dead tissue that might not even be there. Shaving is just as fun, as I take a razor I’ve used just a handful of times and carefully murder hair that, again, I’m not really sure exists. After a year, you’d think I’d be more confident that some kind of growth had happened, but hells if I know. Either way, I take the chance that everywhere on my body might feel fuzzy or whatever, and go over every part of myself, just for safety’s sake, you understand. 

When I’ve finally whipped the towel off of my head, satisfied that my hair is dry enough, I’m incredibly pleased to find that it’s only just then passing 10am. Wonderful timing, really!

Except I’ve then got an hour and a half to wait before I consider it decently early for a lunch date. 

Hm, should I have panicked about whether or not it was a date?

It doesn’t really matter though, I suppose, because I don’t expect she’ll actually want to go anywhere, by the time noon rolls around.

It still takes me a few minutes to get dressed, as I can’t really decide between going all out when I figure we won’t be or going for casual and risking that I’ll look like I don’t care about how I’m seen when I’m with her. In the end, I hedge my bets on my own brain, my own history with making some pretty accurate guesses, and risk looking less-than-pampered in public with her. I tuck myself into a loose, stark white tanktop baring the symbol of an older game that I loved which I throw on over a black bra, aware that the combination really makes my own skin stand out as a sort of midpoint between the two. For shorts, neverminding the chillier temp outside today, I pick a pair of simple jean shorts that hug my butt a little more and show off plenty of my legs. It’d take an idiot not to realize how into my thighs she is.

And then, it’s time to try sitting around and waiting. And waiting.

I make it to 1030 in the morning before I can’t stand waiting any longer. I grab my phone and my keys, and stride out of my apartment, right up to Kit’s door. 

And then I stand there, staring at it. 

There’s really nothing holding me back from heading right in, but the nervous energy in my gut is effectively making me run through a thousand different scenarios of what might happen in the next few minutes. Aphra could scream about an intruder and Kit would rightfully blow me to smithereens, although the smithereen spell is rather complex and complicated, so I would hope she recognizes me before following through with it. Or, Aphra might not be here at all, and I get smithereened because Kit doesn’t have her glasses on. Or she might figure everything out immediately and rush me before I have a chance to say literally anything. Or --

As I close the door behind me, I wonder how much time has passed since I walked out of my own apartment. Hells if I know, really, but I know that it’s been a good few months since I last stepped in here, and when I did, the curtains were drawn, the lights were off, and it was dark and cool.

Now, I take in the scene in front of me with something of a smile in my chest. The curtains are thrown nice and wide, right at the end of the small hallway that makes up the entrance, and the floor is scattered with clothing that, if the tossing is any really judge, is coming straight out of the closet and hitting the floor at almost lightning speeds. 

When I take the final step out of the hallway into what’s the majority of the space, Aphra is resting on the top of the fridge, tucked to my left that corner of the studio apartment, and her eyes give no reaction when she sees me, at first. Instead, she glances at me, blinks, and then turns back away. Then, she swings her head back at me, eyes wide.

_ Why are you -- How are you --? _

She starts two questions, but I reply in the rudest way I feel appropriate right now. By not replying, as fully as I could, and instead pointing at her then tapping the side of my own neck, and finally lifting a finger to my lips.

Seeing a cute cat scowl is something else, I’m telling you now. _Oh, she’ll love that._ _Fine, well, don’t let me get in your way_.

But it’s nothing compared to watching the same cat turn into smoke and wisp away. Nothing at all.

“Aphra?” Kit’s voice spills out into the space, filling it and me with more nerves than a goddamned, uhm --It doesn’t matter. Let’s say butterflies, that makes sense-- filling me with butterflies. “Are you still there?”

When Kit strolls out from the small alcove that exists largely because her bathroom and closet have to be somewhere, every butterfly in my chest melts away, replaced instead with a steady, quick, eager pounding.

“Look, I know you and Kal aren’t the biggest fans of each other, but you can still let me know if I look too -- Oh, h-hey, Kaly!” Kit’s smile easily makes up for all the uncertainty I’ve felt this morning, for every twist and turn I’ve taken in my own mind about how I feel.

“Hey.” I reply, putting on my own best smile, for the gorgeous woman who’s just strolled in front of me. “If you asked me, I’d say that you look… Amazing.”

Hey, when a girl’s right, she’s right; Kit’s gone seemingly the same route I’ve gone today, folding herself into a cute, flared, teal skirt that curls tight around her waist and reaches down to her mid-thigh, paired off with a cute, flowing white shirt with thin black stripes. Her hair is still wrapped up in a towel, but that’s hardly the first thing on my mind when my eyes meet hers; She’s clearly been a little busy this morning, what with the dark eyeshadows and the dark brown lipstick making her impossibly more beautiful. 

“Aww, thanks, Kal. You look great yourself!” the bigger her smile grows, the more I wonder if she’s went ahead with some blush, too, or if I’m not imagining that it’s stronger today. “Sorry I’m not quite ready, we didn’t really agree on a time, so I wasn’t sure when you’d be here and I didn’t hear you come --” Her eyebrows drop suddenly, even though she’s still smiling, “-- Wait, how did you...? Did I leave the door unlocked?”

“No.” I shake my head, but for the moment I decide to remain otherwise silent.

“Then…” the second her smile drops, I decide the moment’s ended entirely, and I’m already starting to lift my hand as she murmur, “How?”

In my hand, held pointing towards the ceiling, is a small, slightly bent key. I’ll admit, it seemed a little plainer than I thought when I got my first really good look at it the night before, sitting in the bag that I’d sat on. It had to fit the collar, I suppose, so it needed to have a dimmer silver coat than your usual key might and, because it was entrenched right into the collar, it was a little harder to get out than you might’ve expected. The odds of getting if off of cat that was running around or scratching you as you reached for it were basically zero.

Behind her cute glasses, Kit’s wide eyes keep bouncing from me to the key in my hand. I’m not entirely sure that she’s ever going to be able to reconcile the person standing in front of her, holding a little silver key, with the woman who was half-ranting about how little it mattered nearly two months ago. It’s fair, of course, so I try to hold myself back for a few minutes while she processes, while she keeps looking at me, the key, me, the key, me -- with her cute lips gaping just a little bit.

“Now,” I eventually start, after the silence’s dragged out for probably a few minutes too long, “I know that you promised your hand in marriage or whatever to whoever opened your door with this key, but…” I shrug, “I was thinking something more along the lines of… Starting a little slower, y’know? I’ve had my time to think it over, I’m ready.”

Now comes the few moments where Kit, assumedly in retaliation for my silence, takes all of the time in the world to pick her way across her messy apartment, stepping over each pair of shorts or bra like it’s an actual landmine, even as her eyes, as far as I can tell, don’t leave me even once. Even once she’s walked as far as she can walk, even standing directly in front of me, still holding her key up like a fool, she remains almost entirely silent.

The first thing she decides to do is press her fingers against my forearm, until I get the hint and drop my hand, quickly stuffing her-- my-- the key into the tiny pocket on my shorts. Once I’ve managed that, I return my eyes back to hers, staring up at me in awe -- Whether it’s in awe of how dumb this was or not, I’ve yet to fully deduce. 

“You’re sure?” are the first words out of Kit’s lips since I spoke almost five minutes ago. 

Standing where she is, Kit’s gorgeous face, her frame, just  _ her _ , are framed perfectly by the sunlight drifting in through the window, and it could not put into any starker relief how sure I am of my answer.

I nod, once. “I am. Are y-” is as far as I get before Kit becomes an explosion of action, readily wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling me down just enough to press her lips into mine. As fast as I can, I react by sliding my arms around her, pulling her closer to me. Her lips against mine sends my stomach twisting in the most amazing way, and I can’t help but press myself right back against her too.

When we break apart, each of us is gasping, panting and I can’t help but focus on the feel of the woman in my hands, the feel of her holding me close, I can’t help but stare into those gorgeous eyes of hers, and read every single thing that I’m feeling radiating from her, too. I said something, something about slow, earlier, did I? 

Slow is the last thing on my mind.

Before either of us has managed to recover even half of our breaths, I push down again, capturing her lips with mine. Not even a moment later, Kit’s shifting her hands behind me, one arm looping around my neck while the other delves upward, catching the back of my head so she can hold me close. I must take half of a step forward, too, because another breath later, her foot finds purchase against my thigh, pressing herself upward until I have to shift my hands downward, grazing her ass on my way to getting a good grip on her thighs.

Now with her firmly in my arms, better than I was hoping for initially, I turn sharply, pressing her back against the nearest wall and pressing myself up against her. I’d have to be a total moron to miss the vibration of her groan against my lips, and it sends my stomach, my chest, everything in me absolutely fucking wild. 

When I break the kiss next, I quickly start trailing my kisses across her chin, dripping over her jaw until I can start pressing my kisses against her throat, and absolutely lavishing in the sounds she starts to make, mewls and purrs and moans, as I do. In between a wall and a Kal, every raucous inhalation and wild moan presses her against me again, ramping me up more and more.

“K-Kaly,” she moans, one arm around my shoulders and the other gripping my neck, “B-Baby, w-wait.”

And I’m a very, very good respondent. The second the word,  _ wait _ , spills from her lips, I’m pulling back, letting her set the distance with her arms, even as her shoulders are back against the wall. “Are you okay?” I murmur, tilting my chin down so I can look as serious as possible while my eyes probably look like some hungry beast’s. No comment about whether that’s an accurate metaphor just now.

“I’m…” Her breathing is still wildly out of rhythm, and even she doesn’t seem to know how strongly she’s gripping my shoulders. “I’m, I’m wonderful… I just…” She swallows, hard, and seems to regain a little bit of her breath. “I know where I’m -- Where I want this to go, b-but I wanna make sure we’re, uhm, on the same, y’know…” God, she’s struggling just as much as I would be in her place. “The same page?”

I can think of only a few words right now, having forced most of my vocabulary through a shredder a few seconds ago so I could focus on her. “I want you, right now, if you want me.”

She nods more eagerly than a kid who’s just been asked if she wants that expensive toy reeeeeally badly. “I want you, baby, Gods, I want you so badly…” but when I start to move back in, the slightest pressure from her hands stops me cold, again. “I just, uhm… I’ve, well, a time or two, misjudged, y’know, a situation, and…”

“I’ll want you tomorrow.” I huff, “I’ll want you next week, too.” I puff, “If you’ll keep me, I’m yours.”

It takes a moment for my short, choppy thoughts born as half-sentences to make it through the filter in her brain, but I can almost count seconds based on how long it takes for her eyes to register the joy she’s feeling to translate into her lips curling up into a little, lusty smirk. “Well… You can have me, too… But, you gotta come and get me first, don’t you think?” 

Once I’ve put that through my own, half-wrecked filter, it takes less than an instant for me to resume pressing my lips against her neck, and the extra breaths Kit was able to collect while we chatted certainly don’t make her moans and groans any quieter. Hell, on full lungs, her hitched and broken gasps and moans, her legs squeezing me now that they’ve wrapped all the way around me, and how tightly she’s pulling me to her are just driving me all the wilder. 

And, now I have a far clearer destination in mind, too. 

Still, I’m not in any rush, and I take my time peppering the Kit’s throat with kisses, pressing myself against her, and migrating my hands upward, until I can get nice, full hands of her lovely, lovely butt -- And a moan to delight anyone when I give her a little squeeze.

“Baby, oh --” Kit whimpers. “Please, please more!”

More is not hard to translate, but I’d like to think that the sound she’s just made has a relatively universal meaning, and I can’t even start to formulate a scenario in which it wouldn’t convince me to slowly lean back, pulling kit away from the wall. 

Now that we’re on the move, though, I can’t safely keep up my torturing of my girlfriend --new or otherwise-- but she has no qualm whatsoever about immediately taking the chance to start experimenting with my neck, kissing here and there, trying to find a the most sensitive spot to tease. As we walk, though, I reach do reach up and begin unraveling the wrapped towel, not that I get very far before we reach her bed.

If I’d gathered one iota of detail about her bed, where it sits, or how it was made, I’d tell you now.

When I feel my knee bump against the side of Kit’s bed, I instinctively lift it, dropping my hands out from behind my neck-involved girlfriend and relishing in the yelp she makes as she goes tumbling backward, landing squarely on her back. If there’s a scowl on her face at any point in the proceeding seconds, it’s wiped away when I dive back in for her throat, my lips landing at the same second as I think to pivot my hips ever so slightly and press myself roughly between her thighs.

You could get drunk on a sound like that.

Kit goes entirely still for less than a fraction of a second, the next moment instinctively starting to rock her hips and grind herself against me as her vocal chords start singing for me. All the while, I start kissing further and further down, over the hollow of her throat, and tracing down her clavicle until -- I pull back entirely, earning myself a long, frustrated, “Babbby noooo, come back!”

I do not, instead I shift myself, press first a soft kiss against her earlobe, and followed up closely by a soft nibble, as I whisper, “I will, I will, Kit, it’s just that we’re so overdressed and --”

I relish in the soft grunt she makes as she angle me away from her, her hands flying up to her head to finish unwrapping the towel. I assume because I can’t stop myself from chuckling as I lean back, that same towel quickly finds its way to being thrown into my face. By the time I’ve picked it off and tossed it onto the floor, Kit’s already got her shirt halfway off, but she pauses when she notices me staring at her quaking stomach, the only part of her exposed, instead of taking off my own shirt. 

Promptly following the only obvious command her silence could be dictating, I pull my shirt up and over my head much faster than Kit manages, but since I started so much later than she did, our shirts hit the floor at roughly the same time. 

Here, my girlfriend discovers that I’m not really great at this whole, ‘Okay, let’s do x then,’ thing, as she arching her back and reaching behind her when my lips and tongue find her clavicle, sending her stomach quivering and her chest heaving again. “Bay-baby,” She manages to get out as her hands fly up and her fingers start claw at my back, “I thought -- we were -- aaaaah, fuck!” 

I start kissing my way into her cleavage a moment later, taking advantage of her arched back to slip my hands behind her back and feel around just long enough to undo the clip of her bra. Without any patience left for niceties, I eagerly start tugging it down without even a moment’s worth of letting her pop either shoulder off the bed, but once she gets the idea, she works with me, and a second later, it joins everything else on the floor. 

A moment later, my hands have found a new target, each one reaching up to replace the oh, so rudely stolen bra, cupping the flesh of her breasts and doing their best to get a wonderful feel of her. All the while, her hands have followed suit, unclipping my bra while I was busy with hers, but I don’t take enough of a break from her to let it get tossed to the floor. Instead, it hangs there as I shift my kisses up overward, over, until I can make her squirm all the more by simply trailing a quick tongue around her nipple, taking it into my mouth and giving her a solid suckle a moment later. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck,” she moans, and I’d like to tell you I have the restraint for that  _ not _ to convince me to follow along with her demands, but I’m not that much better than human. I eagerly drop flat, turned just slightly to the side, and a moment later, I can feel her grinding herself against me again, every part of her shaking or quivering, gasping or mewling, ready, willing, and so, so close to cumming for me.

When I pull away this time, I assume the words on Kit’s mind are, “Fuck me goddamnited!” but I won’t know, as I transition nicely from having a breast between my lips to having the best thing between them, kissing her roughly as her hands frantically try to pull me back between her legs. When I won’t budge, however, she whimpers desperately against my lips, waiting for the second I pull away to gasp and whine, “Baby, pleeease, I’m so close!”

“Oh, sweetie,” I murmur, pressing a gently kiss against her nose, “You’ll get to cum when I say so, okie?” 

I can’t assume she disagrees with that, based on her wide, shining eyes and the sweet part of her lips, so I immediately dip backward, then downward, pressing my lips against her ribcage next. I could tell you I take a long time kissing her tummy, but I think I said something about not lying to you a little bit ago, and I’ve yet to renege on that so far.

I start pressing my lips against the apparent cotton of her skirt without even a moment’s thought, but it would take a brick wall not to notice the way my sweetheart suddenly stiffens up, so even though I’m loathe to slow my progress let alone stop it, I lay one last kiss on her thigh, and sit back. The second I do, she relaxes again, so I start winding my way back up, pressing some of my fingers gently into her hair and kissing her again. 

While I’ve got her trapped against me, I scoot my thigh between her leg, pressing and rubbing and grinding against her, steadily bringing her back upward, pulling away every few seconds to ensure she doesn’t get off too soon, pulling away only once I’m sure she’s aching to cum again.

“You okay, Kit?” I hum into the space between our lips, eyes still closed and my forehead against hers.

“Uh huh.” Her voice comes out strained and airy, her hands wrapped around my head again.

After a moment of trying to beat my brain into phrasing the question the right way, I simply whisper, “I want to taste you, babe. I want to feel you on my tongue, writhing and so, so close to cumming for me. Any objections?”

“I,” she flushes, “I wasn’t, y’know, today, I…” she swallows, a little harshly, “Didn’t shave down there earlier.”

I blink down at her, fighting my urge to frown. What does matter if she’s shaved or -- Oh, right, okay, something something media, something something female hair’s gross for some reason. What bullshit. “Well, that sounds like neither a problem or an objection, so if you don’t mind me, I’m just gonna go and devour you, now.”

And, feeling satisfied that that spark of hunger has returned to her eyes, I snake my way back down, planting a few kisses against her skin, if only because I cannot possibly resist kissing her somehow.

I don’t waste even a single second between the moment I reach her skirt and the moment I dive underneath it, too hungry and ready to be worried about whether or not I can see her face. I won’t need to, with the rest of her to read for reactions. The next kiss I plant is squarely against the crotch of her underwear, which feel ten times damper against my lips than they did against my thigh, and it sends a tremor through her body that culminates with a soft, “Oh, fucking… God…” 

Top praise, that.

Positioning is always a little finicky when you’re in a hurry, bu tI manage to scoop her legs up onto my shoulders more easily I’d’ve expected, tracing my fingers along the outsides of her thighs as I go along. With one hand, I carefully scoot the fabric of her panties out of the way, while the other traces gentle, shapeless patterns into the soft bush of hair just a breath above her pussy. 

And, a moment later, I press my tongue flat against her, trying to strike the balance between gentle and firm as I give her one, long stroke. Then, another. By the third lick, slightly harder and much faster, I’ve fallen in love with the taste of her, on my tongue, on my lips, anywhere and everywhere I can get it. I pull back from the, I don’t know, 18th(?) stroke and finally press my lips against where I roughly think her clit is in the dark, enjoying the trembling, shaking, gasping, moaning mess that I’ve just made. 

When I start to pull myself back out from under her skirt, her hands fly down and try to grasp at my head through the material, while her mouth is running some combination of the words, ‘No, no, don’t stop!’ and, ‘Baby, Kaly, make me cum!’ that makes absolutely no sense as they’re smashed together. But, now that I’ve had my little bit of fun and gotten a good, strong taste for her, I’m  _ almost _ ready to let her off. 

I have to squint a little bit against the light when I come out from her skirt, even need to blink a few times, but it doesn’t take long before I get a taste of something even more delicious than Kit herself, when my eyes land on hers, and the desperation there tells me that she might well do  _ anything _ I’d ask of her if I’d just get my fucking tongue back between her lips.

The reaction draws a smile to my lips, and, with her knees still resting on my shoulders, I grab her waist and scoot her down the bed a little bit, getting a yelp for my troubles, as her butt ends up further from the bed than her shoulders, resting against my chest. Her skirt and underwear go sailing in mere seconds with the better angle, and given Kit starts to scootch back, I’m sure she thinks I’m going to let her get comfy again before I get back to tasting her.

She’s only made it an inch or two when my tongue flicks against her clit, and her shoulders drop back against the bed as a shudder runs through her. Over where my hands are carefully holding her hips, up between the valley of her sweet thighs, her eyes finally meet mine, and I wonder against my will what she feels when I give her my widest smile, my hungriest eyes, and dive in for the final time.

It takes all of five seconds of actual effort now, having strung my babygirl out so long and so hard, before her eyes screw shut, her thighs lock around my head, and she’s gushing against my tongue.

A moment after she freezes up, her orgasm fully rocks her, sending every muscle into a variable spasm, twitching and shaking, jumping and jerking, and if I were any smaller or she any stronger, I’d bet I’ve been forced to relinquish my prize before a few moments had passed. As it is, I hold steady, keeping her mostly in place as she writhes, my tongue hardly slowing as she fully collapses into pleasure. 

Only once she’s simply laying in a little, melted puddle of Kit do I pull away from her at all, smiling at her through the half-lidden smile she’s giving me. In order to make sure she’s comfortable, I’ve followed her down, letting her butt hit the ground again, sliding one hand off of her hip and under, gently massaging her butt. Not because I’ve slapped it, although, there’s an idea, but just because I want to make sure she knows that I’m here.

Already, I’m waiting, just waiting, mischievously anxious for the moment to come -- Just as she exhales and start to say, “Baby, that was --” I drop my lips back down, locking them around her lovely, engorged little clit, arching myself up and allowing the hand underneath her to slip upward, making sure I get the chance to quickly get her juices all over my finger, as her hips rock upwards again. I start, in the fractions of a second all of this takes place it, by easing one finger, then quickly adding another as I realize how ready she is, and starting to gently pump them in and out of her. 

Her second orgasm takes all of a minute to get to, and the third one shakes me off of my guard all of a 15 second pause after her second finish rocking through her. 

Absolutely exhausted, laying in a puddle of ruined sheets, I take all the time I want to slowly feast on my depleted girl, careful not to overstimulate anything with my most gentle of laps. 

Eventually, and I’m not willing to guess how long I snack on her, I start to slowly make my way back upward, stopping to take little lick and plant little kisses all the way back up, until I arrive at a bright-eyed, lazy-smiling Kit, and press my lips against hers again, in a kiss that absolutely must be dripping with her taste, not that that seems to bother her one little bit. 

This is the only kiss that ends, at least so far, by way of tapout, as Kit pulls my attention away from kissing her just long enough to murmur. “My Gods, Kalypso.”

So, I turn onto my side next to her, sliping my arm behind her head. “Enjoy that?” I murmur, unable to help it if I’m smirking.

“I’m sure that you know I did.” She laugh, leaning up and kissing me again. “Gods, I just… Wow.”

“Wow.” I repeat, my smile growing as I pull her closer to me.

“Y’know,” Kit starts, “I would generally feel like this is an odd question, but the way you handled me there… I have to ask if you’re going to let me return the favor?”

As goodnaturedly as I can, I roll my eyes, and press my lips against her forehead. “Oh, no, no, no, darling.” It takes a minute, I assume because she thinks I won’t be coming back, but I manage to extradite myself from the bed, so I’m standing just beside my prone girlfriend, about three quarters of the way naked from the chest up, my bra still holding on for dearest life.

“Now that I’ve had my first portion of today’s full course meal,” I smile, even toss her a saucy little wink, “I’m going to let you worship me.”


	15. Kit's Yes, Ma'am

My gut is telling me that I must be dreaming.

It’s telling me that there simply isn’t any logical way, any sensible reason to believe that this day has actually gone the way it has.

From waking up along with the sun feeling rested and ready for Kal and I’s (first?) lunch (date???) and having a pretty non-hostile, almost pleasant conversation with my mom over the phone, to getting to enjoy a nice, long shower where the water managed to stay warm even after I went about painstakingly shaving my legs so I could feel better about wearing a skirt for her, all the way to the moment when I was half-ready, almost done with my stupid make-up, and someone who is very quickly crystalizing herself as  _ the _ woman for me strolled into my apartment and all but confirmed for me that if I don’t lock her down, then my dumbass is going to end up alone, as one of those crazy cat witches whose most utilized spell is summoning milk to pour itself for her various cats.

Everything that’s come after that has just been… Mind-blowing seems like the best single word, but allow me to summarize as best I can: Oh, my God, she fucks so fucking goooood.

Over the course of what feels like 6 hours but can’t be more than a single one, Kalypso shoves me against a wall and snacks on my neck for a little bit, then she fucking throws me on my bed and starts absolutely toying with me, playing with me, sending me higher and higher. I’m not sure if it’s just her, or if Fae in general are better at paying attention to the reactions their partners are having in bed, but not once did I feel like she was  _ just _ fucking me, y’know? More like, the entire time, I was a living person that she wanted to enjoy ravishing, and she couldn’t enjoy it unless I was having the time of my fucking life.

Which I was. Go ahead and take, ‘my fucking life,’ and apply any possible interpretation, you’ll still be correct.

Even when she headed under my skirt, she was still listening to my body better than I was, because she came right back out and started playing with me in a completely different way, until enough time had passed that she could just flat out say she wanted to eat me without my having a panic attack because, almost literally, the only area of my body that I didn’t shave today managed to be the most relevant to her interests. 

Good lords, do you realize how fucking hard it is to find someone who not only enjoys being more dominate in bed, but is fucking good at it? Especially in Boston! It’s not fucking Northampton, okay? Every dyke you’ve ever met on the streets of Boston was probably just waiting for a hot, vaguely gay-dressing lady to look them in the eyes and scowl a little bit and they’d’ve tossed their panties quicker than an MLB fastball! And I am  _ not _ excluding myself there!

Gods, and then just when I went assuming she’d had enough after taking me for herself once, that beautifully coy bitch just dove right back in and took me two more times! She’s fucking amazing, she is. Any doubts I had about her being perfect for me from a few days ago, or even a few hours ago, are long dead, now.

“Worship you?” I swallow, hard, staring up at my mostly naked girlfriend (I DIDN’T EVEN TALK ABOUT HOW WE’RE TOGETHER NOW, JESUS, today is the best!). “Like --”

“Like,” Kaly’s smile is comfortable and calm, a great source of those two emotions given that I’m over here exploding with the best kind of discomfort and the most hyper longing I’ve ever felt, even as she leans forward, tempting her bra against gravity, “I’m going to guide you, darling, and if you misbehave, you might get punished.”

Hey, Gods, I just wanted to say, I feel like I’ve been a little rude to you, lately. Telling you to fuck off, saying that you’re the worst all the time, so I just wanted to say I’m very, very sorry, and also please never let this stop. Just let the next thousand years or whatever be exactly this moment? Thanks. This is Kit, by the way. Kit Murphy. Don’t mix me up with some other Kit if you’re gonna follow through on this one.

“Okay?” I gulp, but not out of nervousness or apprehension. More just… Excitement.

I don’t miss the slight frown that graces Kalypso’s beautiful face, even though my glasses are about as out of place as they can be without having totally fallen off. Kal’s, naturally, are still perfectly in place, some fucking how. I wonder if they’re bothering her.

“Hey, Kit,” she says, and her tone is far, far less hot right then, but gods if it isn’t still delectably attractive. “Have you played around with, like, BDSM before?”

Well, I have to shake my head there a bit, don’t I? I’ve never wanted to really top anyone, but I’ve equally never had anyone top me either. Not like this. “Not, not properly, no. But I know quite a bit about it.”

Once again, I find myself thanking Tumblr for giving me more information than any fifteen year old should ever have. Really helped me blossom and all that.

“Alright, then,” Kaly nods, that little smirk coming back, finally, “will you be able to control yourself long enough for us to go over some basics, so we’re closer to being on the same page?”

“Ahem,” I giggle, a little nervously, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay,” Kal laughs, “No ma’ams here. I will, however, accept one of the following, only the following, while we’re playing around, okay? Miss.” and then she stops talking, so…

“Yes, Miss.” I smile, already starting to feel ready to get snacked on again.

“Okay.” She nods, “I’ve got a few things that I really enjoy, and I want you to say something if any of these sounds outside of your wheelhouse; Spanking, biting, restraints, a little bit of slapping, like, on the face, and strap-ons, occasionally.”

I bite my lip a little bit, and again I have to wonder where the fuck the mold for, ‘Kit’s perfect woman,’ is and how can I make more Kalypsos with it. 

“Nothing, really?” Kal actually fucking purrs, and I’m ready to start that worshipping at any time now, thank you.”Well, well, well. Alright, then.”

I can’t help but squirm, then, after that purr and then the cooing and the every fucking thing about her, basically, and she, like any good Domme you’ve ever seen, know exactly how to handle that -- “We’re almost done, baby. Do you have any toys hidden around here?”

Wait, I could have bought some toys of my own? Fuck. My. Brain.

I shake my head, and almost instantly, Kaly nods, leans down and scoops up her discarded shirt, slipping back into it without fixing her bra. Only after it’s on does she carefully slide her arms out and lay her underwear across my stomach like some kind of Thor’s hammer. “I’ll be back in just a second, then.”

The added, ‘Don’t move,’ is well and truly implied, don’t you think?

I listen to my door open, close, and then the door across the hallway open and close, and I suddenly wonder what Kalypso’s been up to, sexually, for the last two years? Is excommunication the kind of thing were they let you stop and collect your things, or the kind of thing were they toss you out with nothing but the clothes on your back? Which is another way of wondering, ‘Are these new sex toys, or ones she’s used with someone else?’ Furthermore, if they’re the latter, has she cleaned them properly?

When Kalypso returns, she’s carrying what I approximate to be a fucking chest. It’s not some tiny box or anything even approaching that, it’s a literal, size-of-her-torso chest that she has to awkwardly lug into my apartment and carefully lower it towards the floor, before letting it trump onto the floor. “Whew,” she huffs when she stands back up, glancing over at me and sending me a glowing smile while she murmurs, “Good girl~”

Excuse me, I’m gonna go melt, yeah? Yeah.

She also carries with her a small bag, the purpose of which I don’t immediately comprehend, then, she steps lightly into my bathroom, emerging a few moments later with her glasses in hand and blinking a little forcefully. “I just got these the other day,” she laughs, adorably, “So far, not great, but they’ll more than make up for later when I’m not getting distracted from you by these things.” She hefts up a small box, which I assume are holding her glasses.

“Now, then.” She announces, rolling her shoulders, and I stiffen, but only because I’m  _ fucking ready _ . “I’m sure you saw the chest, and I’m sure your brain started running  _ crazy _ over it. Lemme assuage some possible fears and, maybe, disappoint you a little bit. I got the box off of amazon before I really had a grasp of what American measurements meant, so it’s got a lot of room for growth. However, it’s not nearly as full as I wish it were, or as extensive as the collection I had back home. For what I’ve got in mind today, and for a few future sessions,” she winks at me, and I am definitely ready to fucking go already, “it’ll do.”

I’m amazed I manage not to start begging her immediately.

“One last thing; Safe words. I would really prefer we have one, just in case I hit a nerve I don’t know about with something I say, or I start to do something that you’re not a big fan of, and especially because it’s our first time really delving into this. Since I’m the one in control here,” she pauses, and I can tell that she’s just doing it to set me up for failure, “I want you to pick it out, so you’re more likely to remember it if you need it later.”

I only have to think for a few moments before I come up with; “Katianna.”

I totally get the look that Kal gives me, but ultimately after she rolls it around in her head a little bit, I think she starts to understand why I’d pick my own legal name, a name I haven’t gone by in over a decade, as the only word I’d say when I wanna get out of a situation that I’m not loving.

“Alright, then.” She smiles, taking a solid step back, away from the bed, and holding her arms out. “C’mon, my little kittycat.”

That’s the whole start of mine and Kal’s very first session together, the first proper one at least. There’s not a lot of pomp, nothing terribly memorable about it, although I think it might’ve been the first time she called me  _ her _ kittycat. That’s memorable, I suppose.

At her behest, I quickly hop off of the bed, strolling over towards her with a smile already growing on my face. I’m not really sure what she wants me to do when I get there, so there’s a solid second or two of me just awkwardly smiling at her. This, in so far as it probably wasn’t what she had in mind, is a mistake.

The immediate result is her dipping forward, making a mess between my thighs again by just licking my neck while her hands wraps around me to grab my ass, and suddenly I’m being pulled against her, moaning and mewling all over again, before she pulls away, smirking like she’s got me in the palm of her hand. 

I wish she literally did.

“I love how reactive you are to me playing with your neck.” She purrs as she pulls away, and I try to make a mental note to inform her, later, that it’s really just her mouth that gets me so good, wherever she chooses to put it. “But I thought you wanted to worship. You can’t do that if I’m fully clothed, can you?”

Oh, oh! Okay, that makes a lot more sense. I reach forward, ready to start yanking her shirt off, when her long arm wraps around and gives me maybe the lightest tap on the ass that anyone has ever recieved in any kind of session like this. Given the definition in those arms, I like to think of it as a warning.

Or, more accurately, a promise.

“Don’t you think it wise to ask permission before you undress someone?” Kalypso coos, gently plopping herself down into my computer chair and adjusting it to her liking, now fully into putting on a proper performance now, down to speaking as properly as she can.

Gods, I’m fucked. Well, not literally, yet. Hopefully, soon.

“Yes, Miss. I’m sorry.” I gulp down some spit, hoping that it will help how fucking thirsty I am for her. It does not. “May I please undress you, Miss?”

“Yes, you may, little kitty.” Kalypso gushes, and I have to try to admire how in her element she seems as I step forward, lest I find out how Kalypso actually likes to spank before she wants me to discover it. It’s funny to me how, now that I’m actually involved in a scene how much this really does feel like some kind of production, only if I had to assign roles, I’m more of a writer than an actor, whereas Kaly is probably squarely in the director camp. What we do ultimately depends on me, but how we do it, that really depends on her.

When I first brush my fingers against the skin of Kalpso’s sides, her shirt is already half-way up her lovely torso, and the buzz it sends through my fingers is absolutely electrifying. Still, when my path stutters a little bit, I feel her eyes drift towards me, and the affect they have of making me instantly giddy and nervous is intoxicating. I pick back up right where I stuttered, and she ultimately says nothing. Instead, she lifts her arms up, allowing me to easily slip her shirt over her head and drink in the sight of her chest for the very first time.

I don’t know how to describe the sight, other than wonderful. If she would have included the title of Goddess on her list, I might have begun eagerly using it, here. I’ll give you the shortest version I can of everything I love about Kaly’s boobs; They’re smaller than my own, still full, and round, so I like to think they might hurt her back a little less over time, something a taller woman would have to worry a little more about if she had my boobs. Still, in their fullness, they might not make great handfuls for someone of Kalypso’s own height, but for me, they’re about perfectly sized, and when I eventually get to touch them, I’ll also learn that her nipples are crazy sensitive, such that even a flick from me will turn her on like crazy. The areola of her nipples are large, as are the actual nipples themselves, meaning they aren’t that hard to lick or suck, either.

But, in the moment, I clearly gawk too much, as Kaly, or, Miss, rises to her feet, effectively pressing her chest into my face. Still, I’ve just managed to remember the lesson that I shouldn’t do anything without asking, so despite my desire to just dive in, the same way she did just an hour ago for me, I take the smallest of steps back, leaning down slightly to unbutton and unzip her shorts, neither of which she stops me from doing. I start to drop to my knees, but just as I get there, she kicks the shorts and panties away from her.

I don’t get that I’ve just gotten played until I start to glance back up at her, and realize that she’s gone and spread her legs now, leaving me eye-to-eye with her pussy. For maybe the first time, I actually start to understand just how turned on she is by all of this, even as she reaches down and takes my chin in her hand, tilting my gaze upwards.

I can guess the question before the first word has even passed her lips.

“You seem distracted, babygirl. Do you see something you like?”

I just nod. There’s no reason to use words here, we both know it. Yes, I see something I like, yes, I’d like to bury my face between your thighs, thank you, miss. 

“Well, perhaps you’d like to give it just a little taste, sample it while you wait for the main course?”

“Yes, Miss,” I murmur, “I’d love that.”

I should be expecting what comes next, all told, but for some reason, Kalypso manages to shock me by just sitting down in my office chair. Almost casually, she drapes one of her legs over my shoulder, and tilts the other over the arm of my chair, spreading herself wide in front of me.

Never has the phrase, “I’ve bitten off more than I can chew,” been distilled so well into a single moment as when I realize that Kalypso must have so, so much more experience with this kind of thing. With more confidence than I sometimes have when I ask people what time it is, Kal’s leg on my shoulder gently glides the chair closer, until she couldn’t pull me closer without my bumping into the chair. And, with something I’ve been imagining for almost a year less than six inches from my face, Kal gently glides her fingers between her lips, once, then twice, then a third time, before pressing two of them inside herself. In my office chair. In my apartment.

Time to find somewhere new to focus, that chair will never mean anything else to me again.

She keeps this up for a few minutes, masturbaing almost like I’m not even there, which inspires a whole crazy new memory for me that I’ll definitely be coming back to, until she must grow tired of it, because she gently scoots the chair back while her hand is still between her thighs. The next moment, she’s leaning forward, and that same hand, those same fingers, are pressing against my lips, into my mouth, and I’m happily sucking away while she presses down on my tongue, sharing her taste with me. Enticing me. Teasing me. Promising me that it’ll be even better at the source. 

I want her, I want to have her, I want to have it now, and Kalypso must be able to tell that too, because while her fingers are still in my mouth, she lets out a definitely non-session, non-production laugh. Very slowly, she starts to pump her fingers between my lips, drawing my attention upward to her wide smile. “You seem like you’re enjoying yourself, baby. And you also look as hungry as the hells.”

I nod around the fingers that my new girlfriend/new mistress is still using to fuck my face, not even considering how that’s a sentence I never thought I’d actually think.

“Okay, well, how about this; On one condition, I’ll let you do whatever you like to me.” At no point does she stop pressing her sweet, her-covered fingers in and out of my mouth. Somehow, not stopping the session but letting me do what I want seems like a trap, but that’s one of those formalities that, well, who gives a shit, right? “Does that sound fun?”

I nod, as much as I can.

“And all you have to do is let me handcuff you first~” Kalypso purrs, proving me smarter than I may appear at first, as she pops out of my chair, slightly bending forward so my lips never once leave her fingers, and popping the lid on that chest for the first of what I hope will be many, many times. It takes her no time at all, even with one hand, to find a pair of what look-to-be fur-lined leather handcuffs. “Do you still accept, babygirl?”

Even limited by her fingers, I still nod like crazy, so, so fucking ready to make her cum already, to get her off. When she pulls her fingers out, I’m not expecting it, nor am I expecting the small, ‘pop,’ that follows that, such that I end up jumping a little bit, and Kalypso gets a little giggle out of that, pressing her lips to the top of my head. Soon thereafter, my face basically ends up pressed against, but not between, her thighs as she leans far, far over, scooping one hand up at a time, connecting them behind my back via comfortable, relatively loose cuffs.

It’s a power game, BDSM. At literally any point, I could fall on my butt, wiggle the chain under my feet, and then easily unclip one cuff from the other. At literally no point, save during a fire, will I ever be doing that. 

“And there, there you go!” Kaly smiles, and without another word, marches back over to my bed, where she pulls my pillows down from the top of the bed, positioning them somewhere near the middle and then repositioning them so they’re better suited for supporting her hips as she lays facedown, her ass slightly higher in the air than the rest of her. 

“Okay, baby.” She purrs, her eyes on me, “Anything you want. Oh, I forgot -- No standing up.”

Didn’t I say something about this being a trap literally 30 seconds ago?

Eh, who the fuck cares?

Like a loyal soldier, I replicate my girlfriends march to my bed, only completely on my knees and without the arms to help me balance over the mess I made earlier. When I reach the bed, I hit the conundrum of how to get up there, without my legs to be legs or my hands to magic myself up there, but I think you’ll find that you’re capable of many things once you abandon all of your dignity so you can finally taste your girlfriend properly.

It takes more than five minutes for me to wiggle my way upward, the entire time during which Kaly’s eyes never leave me, and her smile only falters once, when she and I both think I might be about to lose my balance and fall. Still, given how ready she was to react, I don’t think that was an actual worry.

Either way, I do finally make into my own bed, and once I do, I refuse to wait a single minute longer than I absolutely --

Kaly carefully rolls out of the bed, leaving me to stare down at the spot where, a moment ago, I was going to be allowed to do whatever I wanted. When I look to her to, I don’t really know, beg? Simper? Cry? Kaly only shrugs, leaning in and reminding me via kiss that she’s already tasted me, and murmurs, “There was a 10 minute time limit, baby.” against my lips.

I don’t have any time to complain, though, as Kaly’s hand on my shoulder quickly direct  _ me _ over my own pillows, my ass much higher in the air. After slipping a blindfold on me, too, I find out  _ just _ how hard Kaly likes to spank.

My immediate reaction is the pain that one can generally expect will come from getting spanked, but a moment later, the heat from my cheek suffuses throughout my body, and especially between my thighs. A moment later, another slap comes down on the opposite cheek, and even though this one is a little harder, it still has the exact same affect. 

Kaly only spanks me maybe a dozen more times, during which time I learn that there’s almost nothing this woman can do that might make me yell my safeword. If someone can directly slap your pussy and all it does is make you wetter for her, sign away your life right then, you’re done. Professional advice.

After those spanks, Kaly’s lips soon follow, as though their aim is to kiss away all the pain, and not just to turn me on all the more. They’re not terrible for the other thing, though, admittedly.

And lest I think that I might get my lips on my Miss’s clit anytime soon, no sooner have her lips left my ass than do they start climbing, down the slope of my back, over my shoulders, and to my ear.

“How’re you doing, kittycat?” Her breath is warm, enticing against my ear.

I’m fucking pouting.  _ Pouting! _ “I wanna make you cum, baby!” Dream come true and I’m goddamned pouting! And whimpering!

Kalypso lets loose a soft giggle, aware of how close to my ear her lips must be. “And you’ll get to, baby.” One of her hands finds my hip, while the other must be pressed against the bed in front of me. I hear her shuffling a little bit, and a moment later a moan’s driven out of my lips by her thigh pressing against me, rubbing. “But I wanna fuck you first.”

BDSM is a power game. Currently, with something of a smile on my face, I’m losing.

Kalypso knows how to fuck. I think I’ve driven that point home seventeen times today, but in this new position, doing something I’ve never thought of before, I really learn what that means. She takes her time grinding into me, never really letting the pressure her thigh creates get too close to setting me off. She alternates her free hand, the one not stabilizing everything by cupping my hip, between squeezing and slapping my ass, grabbing the chain of my cuffs, and being wrapped up in my hair.

Eventually, after she’s made me cum a few more times than I thought anyone was going to make me today, she must get tired of waiting, because she shifts herself just enough to press herself against the back of my thigh. As she rocks herself back in forth, both hands now squeezing and hold my butt, all I can think about is how fucking jealous I am of my own goddamned thigh.

But before she gets off, that I can tell, she stops, and backs off entirely. Exhausted as I am, I’m not even really interested in the reason, mostly consumed by my one, single thought, something like, “Her juice, my tongue.”

I don’t notice my cuffs being undone, nor do I really notice the pillow being scooted out from under my hips, and I don’t even really think about why she’s rolling me over onto my own pillows without taking the blindfold off. I don’t bother wondering about that gentle weight on my chest, until --

“You’ve been such a good girl today, baby.” She coos, her lips pressing against mine again, seering my own taste into my memory a dozenth time, even as I whimper to be allowed to taste her. “I’m going to let you taste me now, okay?”

Kalypso shifts around above me, and once she slips the blindfold from my eyes, I figure out that it’s because she’s sitting on my chest, and that goddamned pussy, the one I’ve waited so long for, is so, so close. 

I can’t even lift my head to taste her. Which brings my girlfriend so, so much joy, as she gently shifts herself forward, inch by painstanking inch, until her lips are pressing against mine, and I get to taste her for the first time, by pressing my tongue against her, and drawing out a long, long moan.

“Just, uhm…” Kal’s breathing is ragged within a single minute of easing herself down onto my face, “Tap me if you need -- Air, baby.”

What’s that word that means breathing water? I know what it is, I just can’t remember right now. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. After waiting for so long, I’m rewarded appropriately, with long, delicious laps from the tastiest spring that’s ever fucking existed. Against my lips, against my tongue, Kalypso feels wonderful, tastes amazing, and none of that holds a candle to the moment where I realize that she’s been teasing herself just as much as she’s been teasing me. 

Later, much later, I’ll come up with a term for the kind of orgasms that Kalypso has; Domino orgasms.

The first one that rocks her takes all of two minutes for her to hit, the second one hits her almost immediately after the first one, and so on, until I feel full on her, and her alone. Eventually, after I’ve lost count of how many I’ve lapped out of her, I watch as her eyes start to roll back a little and she has to blink, hard, to keep herself up. At which point, she smartly swings one of legs away, leaving us both sitting, dretched, satisfied, and probably pretty gross, in my bed.

“That’s, ugh,” Kaly stutters, “That’s scene, baby. G-Great job.”

“Are you okay, Kal?” I giggle, fully prepared to say I’m drunk on her as I carefully scoot my way back up in bed, until I can actually just pivot myself and sink into her side.

“Oh…” She gasps, “I’m fine. Or, uhh, I will be. Just, ah, first time in… A while.” Her arm curls around me and I settle my head against her shoulder. A moment later, ignoring her own breathing needs, Kaly presses her lips to mine, purring at the taste of us. 

“Kaly,” I laugh against her lips, “Get your breath back first."

“Who cares about breathing?” She agrees with my earlier sentiment, “That was… Ugh. Fucking incredible.”

“It was,” I murmur, leaning in and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Do you always… Y’know, get off like that?”

Kalypso slowly lifts her head, before dropping it once, and then saying, “I… Don’t know.” By now, her hand has started tracing what I think are hearts on my shoulders.

“Whaddya mean? You don’t know?” I hum, wrapping my own arm behind her, around her waist, before snaking the opposite hand around in front of her.

“I usually, uhm, well, I haven’t had many partners, so… I’ve never actually gotten off with any of them.”

If you told me I looked like a Steven Universe character right then, with stars for pupils, I’d believe you. “I was the first?”

“You were.” Kaly giggles, “Literally, too, because, ugh… I get too into my head when I’m alone, and none of my partners… Y’know, have done it for me before, so…” 

“Baby,” I whisper, half worried that I’ll startle her into being more awake, “was that your first orgasm?”

“First set, yeah.” Kalypso murmurs, just before she scoops me up, depositing me very gently into her lap. “How’re you feeling?”

I curl up against her, practically purring, “I’m fi-”

I fall asleep.


	16. Kalypso's Dreamless Nights

It’s dark when I blink awake. For a moment, I’m not entirely sure where I am -- Everything shifts back into place when I remember that I pulled my curtains closed as I climbed into bed for the final time. Letting out a soft sigh of relief, I snuggle a little closer to the cuddly form in front of me, even as I can’t force myself to remember who I’m snuggling with immediately. Only when she stirs do I remember the events of the last day or so, all of the close, intense sex, all of the foods I convinced her to let me take bites of, and all of the water I steadfastly refused to drink. 

So, I pull her even closer, pressing my nose against her shoulder, inhaling the smell of sweat, sex, and perfume. She doesn’t stir again, and I do my best not to change that as I let my eyes drift closed again, hoping that sleep will snuggle me quickly, so I risk waking her less and less.

And then, my eyes pop back open. I frown. I scowl, even. I put all my mental fortitude into not giving in and, in the end, I have to give in anyway. With a sigh, I press a gentle whisper of a kiss against Kit’s shoulder, and carefully pull myself out from under the covers, stopping only when Kit’s hand wraps around my wrist in the dark. “Baby?” She murmurs, “Where’re you goin’?”

“Bathroom.” I murmur, twisting my hand into hers and giving it a light squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”

“Be careful.” She hums, turning back away and snuggling back into my bed.

For my part, I am careful. I know, even as I can’t see anything but swirls in the whisps of moonlight that sneak in when the early morning winds tickle the curtains open, that there’s a wall two feet from the foot of my bed. If I walk directly to it, which I do, and then follow it a few feet rightward, like I do, I’ll pass the closet door.

Going a little further, I come to a corner, and I know that following the wall will bring me to another door, wherein stepping through it brings me into my bathroom. I don’t bother turning on the light, instead leaning against the frame and sticking my foot out until I feel the cool, rounding porcelain that I’ve used maybe 5 times since I got this apartment. Four of which occured in the few months. 

The first time, I didn’t really understand how toilets worked, so I’m not really sure I should count that one.

Based off of the mental layout of my bathroom and where I just felt the toilet was, I make my way there, managing to gently flip the lid up without banging anything unnecessarily.

I can’t help but bite off a chuckle as I think of that -- To be concerned,  _ now _ about unnecessary banging when I just spent the last 12 hours having noncontinuous rounds of copious, amazing sex with someone who became my girlfriend officially only in the middle of the first round of said unforced fucking.

Goddess Above, my girlfriend. Kit’s my girlfriend. It takes a lot for me to fight off the urge to get real fucking possessive, even just sitting in the dark, peeing. Kit’s my girlfriend, the word  _ my _ is there. She also agreed to be  _ mine, _ just as I agreed to be  _ hers _ .

If we’d just started dating yesterday, I’d’ve bought the idea that this might not last, and that I shouldn’t be getting my hopes up. After all the -- Well, most of it was sex for the sake of connection, of showing each other how badly we wanted one another, but there were moments were I slowed my thrusts while wearing my strap-on and simply collapsed into her arms, kissing all over her face just because I could. I wanted to. That’s all.

Because I love her.

I don’t know how she feels, and I think it’d be dangerously dumb to assume she’s gone the, ‘in for a pound, in for a life,’ route that I have. But I know how I feel, and I know what I’m doing. I know how my heart’s already firmly decided and how, even if I really wanted to go, I’m stuck now, happily. I love her, I love and I’ll have her in my heart as long as she likes the decor. 

“I love her.” I whisper aloud to myself, sitting alone in the bathroom, trying to remember how people usually fold their toilet paper. I’ve googled it enough times, you might think I’d remember. “I love her.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever fall in love.” I sigh, leaning back and stretching in the tall grass. Beside me, a line of ants as tall as my knee struggles by, carrying a whole, confusing variety of shit.

“Oh, shut up.” Dione laughs, leaning over and smacking my arm, even though we’re supposed to be out here to relax. “You’re gonna fall in love.”

“You can’t know that.” I coo, “Everything was so easy for you, Penny practically lept into your lap.”

“Only because you shoved her,” Dione sighs, “Which I will be eternally grateful for, forever.”

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life, loveless and alone, with my sister, whom got together with her wife because of me and me alone,” I hum. 

“You will not be loveless, or alone. Ever,” Dione answers, “You know better. It’s in the name.”

“Sunágō forever.” I murmur, my eyes hardly shifting. “Together forever.”

“Exactly! And you’ll fall in love. It’s just… Who you are, Kal.”

“Who I am?” I murmur, now turning my head towards my twin. “ _ Who I am? _ And who are you, Sappho?”

“Yes.” Dione nods emphatically, turning her own head away from the blade of grass she’s just been destroying. “I know, I know, ‘I can’t love anyone! No one makes me feel that good!’ and all that. But you’ve really liked  _ some _ of the people you’ve slept with, I know. You just haven’t quite, like, loved them.”

“What,” I murmur, picking up a bit of dirt and throwing it over her, just to make her twitch a little, “exactly would you denote as the difference between  _ really like _ and  _ love _ ?”

“Whoever makes you cum first?” Dione smirks, throwing a bit of dirt back at me.

“Yes, and when my kids one day say, ‘Mom, how did you and mommy know you were each others ones?’ My wife will turn to them and say, ‘Well, I knew because of her smile,’ and I’ll turn to them, my probably very young children, and say, ‘She really knew how to fuck.’ Genius.”

“Smart ass.” Dione laughs

“Dumb ass.” I laugh back.

“But, seriously,” Dione drops her laugh like I drop the next bit of dirt I was going to to throw, “You’ll fall in love, you’ll get off while you’re banging, all that. Just relax, fall in love, form a deep bond or whatever so you can really get attracted to someone for once.”

I cock my head, not having though of that, “You think so?”

“What, that you’re a demisexual dumbass, or that you’ll fall in love?”

I scowl at her.

“Because yes.”

I don’t realize I’m crying until the tears plummet off of my nose and onto my hands, and probably the toilet paper between them. It’s not a hard sob, like I’d normally have, just some water managing to slip out of my eyes. It lasts for maybe five minutes, and as I feel the tears starting to stop, I raise my arm, wiping away the tears. The next words that slip from my lips as barely more than a breath are, “Sunágō forever.”

I wait a few breaths, wait for the words to be repeated back to me. I wait for Mom to say it, Dad to miss the cue and say it only a moment after her. I wait for Maria to pipe in happily, or Nereus to toss in his sullen version. I wait for Dione to kick Metis into gear after she and I have just repeated the family motto.

Silence. Not even the sound of a dripping faucet answers me. 

  1. 8\. 5. 2. 0.
  2. 8\. 5. 2. 0.
  3. Fuck. 8. Goddamnit. 5. Shit. 2. Fuck, fuck, fu --



“Babe?” Kit’s voice breaks the silence, and I let out a long, deep sigh. “You coming back tonight?”

“Yeah,” I laugh, practically watching the tremors work themselves out of my hand, “Just a few more minutes!”

“Okie.” I hear her murmur, if only barely. After another few seconds, I wrap everything up as neatly as I can, gently closing the lid and then clumsily finding the little flush lever thing. I take just a little longer to wash my hands, drying them on the small towel that hangs just aside the sink.

I take a half-step out of the bathroom, and I’m almost steamrolled by a sense of nostalgia.

I don’t bother trying to tell myself that I’m not incredibly excited to have a few dreamless nights, instead finishing the half-step out of the bathroom and letting my eyes land on what I’m fairly sure is my girlfriend, snuggled up in my bed. My Kit.

“If you don’t hurry,” said girlfriend grumbles, “the bed’s gonna get all cold.”

“Demanding.” I yawn, before wobbling my way across the apartment, trying to remember where the couch is in this new darkness, and barely managing to miss smacking it with my thigh, instead getting away with just sort of banging it with my hand. Instinctively, rather than because it actually hurts, I quietly mumble a soft, “Ow.”

“You okay?” My half awake girlfriend shoots up in bed, assumedly turning towards the sound of my voice. 

“Yeah,” I reassure her with a soft giggle, “Just banged my hand.”

I hear the shuffles as she slips back down, but I don’t miss the ever so soft, “Better not have been your banging hand.”

“I promise,” I laugh, feeling my knee bump against the edge of the mattress, “that my banging hand is perfectly preserved for you, baby.”

Careful as I can, I slip back into my bed, using a hand that I lay on Kit’s hip to guide myself back into place, pressed up against her back, her bare ass feeling so lovely against my thighs. All the while, she’s pulled my hand back over her side, turning it upward so she can kiss the aforementioned hand and pull it to her chest. “All safe.” she purrs.

“Uh huh.” I laugh, slipping my other arm under the pillow beneath her head. “All safe.”

“The rest of you,” she shivers, slightly, as my chest prests up to her back properly, “is chilly as fuck.”

“Which isn’t my fault,” I protest, pressing my nose into the mess of her hair, “I did my best to hurry.”

“Uh  _ huh _ .” She hums, before pressing back against me with a smooth purr, “I think you waited so I would make a joke about how we could heat up. The punchlight would be fucking.”

“No one appreciates the effort of a good setup, these days,” I chuckle, pressing my lips against her neck, “all of the work and effort that go into it. Damned critics.” 

Kit’s soft, sweet laugh fills my chest with pride, and I squeeze her tighter to me as I slowly, start to pass out again.

_ I love her. _

When I blink awake next, what bits of the sun that can make it through the grey clouds today are shining in through my window, and my girlfriend is tucked up against me, snoozing away. If anyone has a better definition of the perfect morning, I would gladly accept their challenge so I could break down point by point why they’re clearly wrong. 

With the additional morning light, I can see just enough around me to count the seconds between each of my lovely girlfriend’s easy, slow breaths. I don’t have to move my cheek at all from its resing place against her shoulder to glance down at her slowly rising and falling tummy, or to look over and see her breasts pressed together, and it’s not too much of a lean when I press my lips to her jaw.

And again, slightly lower, when the first kiss makes her squirm. Then again, this time entirely on her neck, because I can’t possibly help myself now, can I? 

On our first full day as a couple, Kit’s first words to me are, “If you’re not going to take me  _ right now, _ baby, then please stop teasing me.”

Well, I can’t not oblige that, can I?

Without another word, I slide my hand downward, quickly easing a finger deep inside of her as my next kiss tickles her throat. After yesterday, though, I feel like an expert at pleasing her, because within minutes of waking, my darling is writhing around my fingers, moaning and begging me for release. I could play with her all day, like this, driving her higher and then letting her drop, not giving her any release until long after I’ve driven her crazy. I could, but I don’t. Instead, I drive her to a steady, but quick, orgasm, writing against me, and then pull my fingers away, happily suckling the evidence of her pleasure from my fingertips.

“Good girl~” I hum into her ear a moment or two later. “Very good girl, cumming for me like that.”

“And a good morning to you, too, babe~” Kit gasps, her breath finally coming back to her. “Gods, please tell me you start every morning like this.”

I can’t help but laugh, ever so softly, as she rolls over in bed, stopping to stretch her arms sky high and reach her toes as far down as she can. I wait for her to finish, fighting a deep temptation to tickle her until she’s rolled to face me fully, her smile matching mine. “Nothing starts a morning like a nice orgasm?” I murmur, zooming forward to plant a kiss on her nose before retreating back across the gap in our pillows. I mean, my arm is still under head, so, that’s not entirely accurate. 

“Mmmm, maybe instead of answering that, I can just show you?” Kit murmurs, and I can tell just from the look in her eyes that she’s not at all joking. 

When I lean forward this time, I deftly catch her lips in mine, kissing her as deeply as I dare risk. When I end up pulling back, giggling at the half-lidded look on her face, Kit pouts, “What’re laughing at, butthead?”

“The look you had just a second ago, when I kissed you. It was really, really cute.”

“Yeah, well that look in your eyes when you kissed me just now was really, really hot, so…” She pops her eyebrows high, forcing her mouth into as straight as line as she can manage. “You should proooobably do something about that, don’t you think? Or, let me do something about it?”

“Mmm, y’know, I’d love to, babe,” I murmur, breaking out into a giggle when she pouts at me, “But if I get started, I’m going to be going all day on you, and then you and I will never, ever get anything done again.”

Kit just shrugs, a smirk gracing those cute, cute lips. “Had to try, did I? Nothing like a second day getting absolutely smashed by your girlfriend to really relax the hell out of you.”

If you thought that I wouldn’t smile like a cheshire cat when she said that, you were very, very wrong. 

“Okay,” Kit sighs wiggling on the bed until she can snuggle into me, “Later then. What did you have in mind for our day, Kal?”

I don’t answer until I’ve pressed a kiss or five against the top of her head, at which point I end up just shrugging at her. “I dunno. I thought we might go out and get that lunch that  _ someone _ was a little preoccupied to go and get yesterday.”

I feel her laugh just a touch before she tilts her chin upwards, eyebrows risen skyhigh, trying to give me her best, ‘Are you sure you want to continue that line of thought?’ look, which gets me laughing too.

“I mean me, of course,” I chuckle, kissing her forehead. “I dunno, if you feel like cooking, we could keep trying to talk my body into not hating food?”

“I still don’t see why you’re interested in changing that anyway,” Kit hums, kissing my chin. “Like, where did that idea of yours come from?”

“From dinner the other night, where you ate a whole burger and I’m pretty sure I’d’ve puked if I had a single bite.” I reply, shrugging, “I guess I kind of want to be able to do normal couple shit like going out to eat together.”

“Ehhh… I just dunno.” Kit frowns back up at me. “Like… So much of the food that we could buy, or cook, or anything is just straight up unhealthy for you? For me, too, but I don’t have that sunlight spell, and I’m not sure I’d wanna  _ change _ my whole life style if I did, anyway.”

“Am I being out-ruled then?” I faux-pout at her. 

“As someone who has eaten human junk for her entire life, you’re not missing anything. Just munching peer sunlight and magic has gotta be better for you.”

“Probably.” I sigh, even though I kinda knew where that kinda suggestion was going to go. “Alright, then. How about… We could go for a walk?”

I love that Kit’s first instinct when I suggest that is to turn and peer out at the sky, and I find the little head bob she does when she sees the grey hanging in the sky, “Now that, that’s incredibly do-able.”

“Not unlike someone laying in this bed,” I hum, “Later, at least.”

“Wait,” Kit chuckles, “Did you mean yourself?”

I nod, holding my face as neutral as possible, “Of course I did.”

Without even a moment’s notice, Kit dips just a little, and presses her tongue wide against my throat, licking as she slowly rises. Then, she dips again, blowing on the cool spot, sending two different kinds of shivers through my body. “Oh, you little --” I laugh, eagerly reaching for the armpits I’d so mistakenly ignored earlier.

Only, Kit’s already launched herself out of bed, scrambling to scoop up the assortment of clothes that she’d hopped into last night, so she could make it across the hall to my larger bed. “-- your little Kittycat, right?” Kit giggles, diving into the bathroom. She almost makes it, too, but I shove my leg into the doorway just before she starts closing it. We both know that she’s not willing to risk actually hurting me, so she immediately backs down.

A moment later, half the clothes she was carrying hit the bathroom floor as I casually scoop her up, depositing her on the counter and catching her mouth just as it’s cool bite on her butt registers in her system. After I’ve spent a moment munching on her yelp, not to mention some light nibbling on her lip, I happily step away and throw the shower on, far more certain today that there’s a layer of sweat and dirt to eliminate than I was just yesterday morning.

“You suck.” Kit laughs, shivering while she waits where I set her.

“I do.” I eagerly agree, scooping up the dropped clothes and carefully hanging them on the higher of the two towel racks, leaving the bottom one for an actual towel. “Call if you’re in need of a sucking consultation.”

Kat mimes fumbling with her handComm for a moment, then presses it to her ear, and whispers, “Briiiing!”

Mimicking her, I lift my own handComm to my face, “Hi, this is Kal’s Suckletation, please hold for these paid messages!” then, I mimick placing my phone down, on her thigh, face down.

“Did you just hang up on me?” Kit gasps, throwing a mock hand towards her chest, absolutely outraged as she is. “I’ll have to call management, I swear.”

The last line gets me and I crack up just as I wrap my arm around her and hug her close. When she wraps her arms and legs around me, I turn fully towards her, pressing my kiss to her’s in a short kiss. It takes another few moments, but finally, Kit breaks out with, “Hey, Kal?”

“Wassup?” I hum, just leaning my forehead against hers.

“I was wondering…” 

I nod, just a little, “Thinking is pretty hot.”

“Anyway, you big dork, it’s more serious” she laughs, “ugh, but, I wanted to ask you -- Cause I’ve heard other people refer to you as both Fae and ex-Fae, and I can’t decide which you’d prefer, so… I thought I’d just do a classic and ask you. Do you consider yourself Fae… Or ex-Fae?”

From so few inches away, Kit can’t miss the cringe that sweeps my face, or my attempts to turn away from her within her arms.

“Okay, okay, baby, we don’t have to talk about it.” Kit hums, pressing her cheek into my shoulder. “Sorry, babe.”

“No, no,” I huff, shaking my head in frustration, “It’s… It makes sense, to ask me what I consider myself. I just… Hadn’t answered that question to myself.” 

“Don’t force yours --” I cut her off with a quick kiss, leaving her blinking.

“Who was that author who said that shit about good things being hard to do?”

“I dunno.” She murmurs, still blinking from the drive-by.

“Well… Apply the idea here. It might be hard, but I think this is the kind thing I have to start considering more. So… Shall I consider?”

I swear her eyes sparkle up at me as she conspiratorially whispers, “Like, aloud?”

I nod, squeezing her closer to me and drifting my hand across her back slowly. “Alright. So, to consider… To consider whether one is a Fae or not, one should probably start by examining what made Fae,  _ Fae _ , to begin with.

“In this case,” I hum, breaking away to check the temperature of the water, smirking over my shoulder at Kit as I step in without her, half-yelling so she can still hear me, “One should look back to the original split between Fae and Witches, some few thousand years ago!”

“Fucker.” Kit huffs as she steps into the shower ahead of me, still wrapping her arms around my wet, lower half. “Smart fucker. Still a fucker.”

I barely pause, except to pat her head. “So, you know, a few thousand years ago, those who would be the first Fae were all huffy about how dangerous they viewed the Witch Methods to be, all elixirs and hand-spells. At that point, I suppose you could have counted those who hadn’t figured out how to create wands, but wanted to, as Fae. For our purposes, then, yeah, I’m still Fae.”

“Well, that’s great!” Kit hums, already popping some of my body wash onto a luffa and pressing it into me. The choice makes me pop my eyes as she starts gently scrubbing my belly, but ultimately I don’t let it interrupt me too much.

“Such a good girl~” I tease her, before jumping back into it, “If we stopped there, that’d be rather great. But, we probably oughtn’t. The first sets of wands weren’t immediately perfect; The first Fae, Gaea, created hers only hours before her death, and it was never properly utilized. Those first few wands were ones that probably belonged in a museum long before the Elder Fae that wielded them were willing to part with them.”

“Is that common?” Kit murmurs, pressing the luffa dutifully into my thighs, “For Fae to form connections with their wands?”

I bob my head, stealing the luffa from her for a moment to press it into her chest and start lovingly scrubbing her torso. “Yes. Absolutely. Our wands are, generally speaking, created by forming a bond between some kind of magic-neutral object and the Fae who will wield it. Generally, that’s done as close to birth as possible, for the purpose of restricting the knowledge from spreading too much.”

“Why?” She frowns, biting her lip as I use one hand to scrub her sides and the free hand to play with one of her nipples. “Why not let something like that spread as much as possible?”

“Ah.” I sigh, “The magic question. Literally, I guess. It used to be common knowledge, even just a millennium ago. For this, we have to refer back to the lovely Citrus family, but one of the far flung descendants of the Magistrate. A member of the 5th Ward, Erdini, who commited what was considered a deeply sacreligious crime at the time. As it happened, it bothered 3 of the Magistrates enough that they wanted to punish her somehow, but only 2 of the Magistrates wanted to outright execute her. So, they agreed that a different form of punishment was far more appropriate.”

“Excommunication.” Kit hums, taking her chance to try stealing the luffa back from me, though I just hold it a little out of her reach for a few seconds, before returning to spreading the soap over her arms. “Giant.” she huffs.

“Excommunication,” I nod, smiling, “Originally known as Execution of Communication Orders once meant that you were effectively exiled from all Fae areas, so long as they existed. There we some smaller towns throughout the colony who wouldn’t hold her to it, but that original Fae quickly did herself a disservice, during the hearings over what her sentence would be, and actively pointed out that using magic would pretty much allow her to circumvent the rules at any point.

“So, she single-handedly managed to convince a majority of those with any say whatsoever that the technique for creating wands should become far more guarded, erased from that Fae collective knowledge and almost every Fae’s mind.”

“Willingly?” Kit gapes, and after almost two years out here, I’m starting to understand why.

“It was rather easy to do, yeah. For the betterment of the colony, or whatever. So, one mass spell cast by each Magistrate from the center of the city did the trick, erasing all the written records and encased memories that anyone had. Originally, only a Magistrate was allowed to remember, and they’d have it skipped out of their mind when they left office or returned when they took office.”

“And no one else knew?”

“Nope.” I pop my lips against hers as I draw her into a quick kiss.

“What if all of the Magistrates had died?” Kit pouts, managing to slip the loofa from me. “Were there any, like, safeguards to ensure that you’d still have --”

I’m already nodding, “It stuck with the Magistrates and them alone for all of two years, and then the 5 of them agreed they were too busy from making new wands to actually govern, and that had to change. They created what’s known as Voluntary Office of Item Connection and Execution Services.”

“VOICES?”

I frown, which what not something I thought I could do as my favorite woman pressed herself against me and touched my butt. “I guess that’s how the initials work out in English. I think a more direct translation, from Fae to English, would be a little less catchy or mnemonic. Oh, and if you’re wondering why it was voluntary?” Kit nods, quietly switching hands to scrub the other buttcheek and grope the cleaner one. “Because violating the terms of your service were grounds for execution.”

“What the fuck?” Kit gasps, “Why?”

I shrug, “You can imagine, can’t you? This secret that just two years, ish, prior had been such taboo that everyone agreed to yeet it? All of a sudden, the government was unilaterally deciding to hand that information out again. It was not, at first, a popular proposal. Only after they agreed to the execution part did it open up. Seems to have worked out, as far as I can tell, how the Magistrates wanted it to.”

“Wow.” Kit murmurs, her chin pressed into my soapy sternum.

“Anyhow,” I finally continue, trying ineffectively to swipe the loofa from her, “our wands are created, like I said, by connecting our essences to something like a stick. There are a few people who use flowers, a handful have used, like, pens, oh, and I think my favorite idiot used a sword.”

“Why would that be a bad idea?” Kit murmurs again, still slowly rubbing my back.

I lift my arm to show her, twisting and turning my wrist with all the various moments one needs to cast effectively. “Okay, now try to do what I just did but with a sword.”

“Oh,” Kit hums, “I still think the sword wand would be pretty awesome.”

“It is.” I reply, kissing her forehead. “The process of connecting yourself with your wand, as far as I could ever figure out from what little research survived the ECO2 orders, well… They basically just sat a stick and a baby in front of a Magistrate, and she was able to sort of drain some of the baby’s essence into what would become her wand, somehow.” I shrug, “Beyond that? Beats me. To answer the big question; I’d bet, that most Fae would consider the wand what makes the Fae, so --”

But Kit has stopped scrubbing entirely. “It’s just straight up, like, a connection of essence?”

“Well, not…” I huff, “Quite. It’s our own essence, meaning it’s almost impossible for another Fae to use our wands without killing themselves. The same is true of when they break, or are broken, because trying to fix them can absolutely be deadly.”

But, for my own confusion and frustration, Kit’s eyes are wide and hopeful. “Do you have your wand?”

Frowning, I lift my hand upward, wiggle my fingers so she can see it’s empty.

And snap.

When my hand remains empty, when nothing comes flying, I toss a look over at my empty hand, and shrug at her, “Seems not, darling.”

As gently as she possibly can, she cups my cheek and scowls fiercely at me. “You know what I meant.”

I sigh, “Yeah, Kit, I have what’s left, but --”

More confidently than I think I’ve ever seen her, my girlfriend, the witch, pushes herself up on her tiptoes, right into my face, and  _ cheers _ , “I can fix it!”

_ I love her. _

_ I trust her. _

_ I believe her. _

“Okay.” I whisper, my eyes locked on hers, “What do you need?”


	17. Kit's Connections

Racing through the rest of the shower with a hot woman ahead of me is somehow easier than I’d have ever thought. Especially this particular hot woman, this amazing, practically perfect hot woman. But, after I promise her more than I’ve ever promised anyone in my entire life, neither of us are particularly inclined to get lost in each other again. Tempted, yes, repeatedly, as we each try to wash our hair and scrub ourselves down asap.

As we step out, I can’t be assed to wait too much longer, raising my hand and drying Kal and I almost instantly. I can’t get all the water out of my hair, just like yesterday, annoyingly, but I don’t bother grabbing up the towel to wrap my head. It doesn’t matter. Few things matter to me, right now, meaning that what’s on my mind is Kalypso and that wand, and what I might be able to do for her.

Or to myself.

It’s a niggling thought as I slip the undies and shorts I wore over yesterday, then start trying to figure out where the hell I left my big pajama shirt. It’s easier to find it once I’ve plopped my glasses back on, but at the last second, I detour away from it and dive into Kaly’s closet, deciding to grab one of her big tank tops to slip over me. 

Kalypso, for her part, plops her naked ass back on her bed, staring at me, sans glasses.

“What’s up?” I murmur, frozen as I started grabbing something for her to wear, so we can get started properly. 

“It’s dangerous.” Kal murmurs, “Like, really dangerous, babe.”

“I know.” I hum, “But I can do it.”

But Kal shakes her head, “I don’t doubt that. I just… I’d rather have you than a wand, even my wand, any day. I…” she stutters, running her hand through her hair, “I guess I just worry the universe is about to take you away and give me something else that I’ve already lived without for years.” 

With a pair of her longer shorts and a t-shirt in my hands, I stroll back across Kal’s apartment, tossing them on the bed beside her before forcing my way into her lap. Getting her to look up at me is hard, both hands pressing up on her cheeks hard, but her eyes are nervous and worried when they meet mine.

“Fuck the universe.” I murmur, “I won’t let it. I won’t let it take me away anymore than I’ll let it keep your magic from you. You deserve both, Kalypso. Not a fucked up either-or, both.”

When the tears start slipping out of her eyes, I pull her face down to my shoulder, expecting sobs to start wracking through her any moment now. Rather, she wraps her arms around me, soaking my shoulder with her tears much more quietly than I’d expect, and only for a minute or two before she pulls back, kisses me briefly, and then hugs me tight to herself. “Okay.” Her voice shakes, “I’m okay.”

“Good.” I hum, wrapping her up in a hug, too. “Well… Let’s see it?”

Kaly gently shifts, not even lifting me from her lap as she pulls open the bedside tables single drawer, dipping her hand in and pulling out a short, black, rectangular box. There’s nothing in particular that denotes it as what I know it to be, as Kaly sits back up and I have to lean back to make room for it between us. 

“When was the last time you looked at it?” I whisper, trying to be as tender as I can with my girl right now.

“When I put it in here.” Kaly murmurs, sounding as fragile as I’d’ve expected. “I woke up in a forest in Maine, after I got exed. I got lucky, in that even in the middle of a rainstorm, there were still idiots who were out camping. One of them, a woman named Sara, I think it was, gave me a ride to the closest police station in her wife’s truck. I told them all that I’d hit my head, right, so that I didn’t have to come up with any better lies. I spent the night with the, I think he was a sheriff? I told them some bullshit about having family in Boston, so that I could find a big city far enough away from having to talk to any of them again.”

Interrupting now would be so, so cruel, so instead, I simply hold myself to her as much as I can.

“Well, I get to the bus station in town, no money, no real plan, and ask the attendant if I can use their phone to call a relative. I dial in 617, then just mash the buttons, and hit call. And who should answer but your mom. I don’t know if it was just luck or some kind of magical bullshit, but she decides to help me, either way. Gets me put on a bus down to Boston, with directions to her bar. Naturally, I forgot them, but I remembered the bar’s name, so I asked around and got there eventually.” She sniffles, but she’s not crying yet. “Before long, she helped me get documentation, identification, everything, and then helps me get this apartment.”

She sighs, and I notice that she’s started gently spinning the box in her hands.

“And this entire time, I’m carrying this stupid, broken stick around like some kind of lifeline or, or a shield. Whether I was putting it in my pockets or tucking it into my waistband, everywhere I went, I carried it around with me. Then, your mom helped me get settled in here, and eventually, I started to feel… Not good, really, but… Better. So,” she nods downward, “I got this box. I think it was, like, July. I put it in here, put the box in there, and it’s sat there ever since.”

“And today,” I murmur, “We’re gonna fix it, baby. I promise.”

Witches and promises.

Moving more like a sloth than woman, Kalypso turns the box one final time, towards me, and finally, finally cracks it open. Just as deliberately, she pulls it open bit by bit, until it sits fully open in front of me, and I get a good look at my very first wand project. 

I make no sound when I see it, but my lips crack open the slightest bit as I hunch myself over more to see it. It is, as Kaly might call it, just a broken stick. Both halves of it are laid on a bed of crushed velvet, so I’m guessing this was a jewelry box --not that I can imagine what piece or pieces would take up space nearly 8 inches in length-- but they’re laid diagonally, assumedly so they’d actually fit within. One side starts from a very thin point, growing slightly thicker, while the other seems about the same width the entire way over, though it’s hard to tell for certain over the thick, leatherlike wrapping of what must be the handle. 

Very much so like Kalypso, her wand itself is gorgeous, made from a light, grey wood which I have no idea what to call. I only saw Dione’s wand under my chin and in motion, so it’s not a great comparison, but I’d almost certainly say that her wand was much less bendy than Kal’s is. It’s not a crazy straw, although that’d be something to see, but there are a few gentler waves in the wood of her wand, or there would be, where there not an obvious crack near the would-be center, with splintered ends that I can imagine cascading into pieces in front of my girlfriend, and the thought almost makes me cry.

When I look up from it, I expect to find Kalypso enraptured by what was once her wand, but she’s busy staring at me. I can’t tell what’s in her mind, but I watch as she sets the still-opened box a little ways away on the bed, and I eagerly follow as she pulls me closer to her. For a few minutes, unable to guess how she might be feeling, I just cling to her, hoping that I’m doing her some good on what may well turn out to be the best or worst day ever.

“So…” She eventually whispers into my ear, and I can hear some kind of tension in her voice, taunt like a bowstring, “I’ve shown you mine, you gonna show me yours?” and the tensions cracks, hard, as I shove her back onto the bed, as much as you can shove over someone who’s already collapsing into a heap of giggles. Still, I can’t help but join her in laughing, enjoying the sense of normal the moment holds until I slip forward onto her, her boobs pressing up against me as I brush my lips against her chin.

“You’re just the worst, Kal.” I tease, enjoying the feeling of her laughing against me as her arms slide up and wrap around my back.

_ I really, really like her. _

_ Gods, I --  _

“So, for real, though,” Kaly finally regains her ability to seriously communicate, tenderly raising us both up, glancing over to make sure the parts of her wand have remained in their box, “What’s your plan of action, here?”

We’re both looking over at that damned box when I finally manage, “I’m gonna make that stick your wand again, babe.”  _ Not if it kills me, first, but… I know I can. So, I have to at least try, for her. _

“No, you don’t.” Kalypso murmurs, “You really don’t. I’ve made it two years, cutestuff, I can make it more. If I’ve got you with me.”

I pay no mind to how I definitely didn’t say that shit aloud, instead murmuring, “And you always will. Let me stretch for you a little bit, Fairydust, for you can spend a few centuries making it up to me by grabbing shit I can’t reach, yeah?”

Even having tried my best, Kalypso doesn’t look entirely reassured, but she pulls me close one more time. “If you really believe you’re tall enough, then… Grab that star, Kit. I’ll help you however I can.”

I press my lips firmly to her cheek, only tilting them away so I can whisper, “That’s up to you. I… Don’t think I’ll need an assistant, per se, with this. I could use someone nearby to keep me grounded, but… I have no idea how long this whole endeavour might take. It could be a few days, or weeks, even, before I come back out. I was in my own brain for a week the last time I tried something this… Complicated.”

“I’ll be there for you,” she murmurs, and finally stands herself up, still holding me to her. With less effort than I might’ve expected, she leans over, scaring the fuck out of me for a moment, and scoops up the box. “Where are we doing this? Here, or your place?”

“Mine,” I answer immediately, “There are something like a few dozen ley lines that all intersect in the middle of my apartment, so I’d wager it’s perfect for this.”

Kalypso, still pretty fucking naked, seems not to mind at all, instead striding through my apartment with me in her arms, popping the door open and closed behind her without any care for how bare she is. A moment later, she cracks my door open and then closed behind us, carrying the pair of us to the center of the the absolutely wrecked space. 

“Wow,” I hum, “We really did a number in here, huh?”

“Looks a little different in the light of day, yeah.” Kal laughs, carefully lowering herself to the floor before helping me to twist around in her lap.

“Wait, you want me to sit in your lap?” I frown.

“Yep. Can’t forget I’m here, then.” She coos.

“I might not move for weeks, Kaly. Including, like… Bathroom needs,” my frown deepens.

“Anything for you,” she replies, her face not showing even a single crack of this being some kind of joke, “We’re together for this.”  _ Always. _

I nod my head, and murmur, “Always.” in response.

Despite this being my, like, sanctum, it’s Kaly who opens the box back up. Maybe, if it’d been me, I might’ve treated the relic of challenge ahead of me with some respect, but she just flips the box, dumping the wand onto the floor.

“Baby,” I chide.

“It’s not a wand til it works,” Kalypso replies, cooly. “Just a stick.”

Rather than spend another hour or whatever arguing about the sanctity of magical items with her, I brush one last kiss over her jaw before turning away from her, and to the task at hand. It takes me a few minutes to get settled, crossing my legs and wiggling my butt into her, and more than a few deep breath to get some of the thoughts out of my mind.

Y’know, the classics;  _ I’ve only been her girlfriend for, like, 22 hours, and I’m about to try conquering a magical hill that people were trying to climb for centuries before they summited it _ , and  _ Anything for her,  _ and, of course,  _ Holy shit, if this works, I’m gonna be a fucking legend. _

_ Love, legend, not much difference, right? _

The thought isn’t mine, but I’m not in a state to try to argue with it. By then, I’ve settled deep into a mindspace that’s reserved for only the hardest of tasks.

I’m about to fix a fucking wand.

I expect it to be harder than anything I’ve ever tried. I expect it to be hidden from me, locked away behind barriers that are, themselves, tucked away in dark corners. I expect that it’ll be so, so hard, yet as my eyes come to a rest within my skull, and I start to feel lighter and lighter, I can already sense  _ something. _

Around me, behind me, under me, space melts away from me.

My senses stop paying attention to the honking of horns, the revving of engines from the road not too far away, they stop wasting their time informing me of how the air is tickling my skin, they stop bothering with all of the minutiae of life around me.

Instead, the space transforms into mere fractions of reality.

The four walls that make up my tiny apartment are not a limit, they’re not even real. In apartments just beyond my own, an old man plays with his dog and a young woman is staring out her window while waves of energy explode into her ears. Neither of them register as more than blips. The people in cars who are late for this or that become little more than manifestations of energy in cool, metal husks, their destinations as meaningless to me as an atom is to the sun.

All around me, compartmentations of a space that could house hundreds are empty of any kind of movement. Twenty feet away in a direction that does not matter, someone is tying another someone to a bed, for what purpose I could not care less. Forty feet away in a manner that I believe is upward, someone holds something that I cannot see in front of their face. Five hundred and one thousand feet away from me, two hands slowly work in circular motions to create something they will not use, for someone they may never meet.

Zero feet away from me, someone is holding me. The energy they represent is strong, and steady, holding still as the pile of pulsing, bouncing essence in front of them practically vibrates out of it’s skin.

In front of both of them, rests a something. 

No, two somethings.

No, one something that is two.

I have to push everything else away, the circular motions and the pounding waves, the joyful movements and the rushing souls. I have to push it all away, until the universe is in front of me, two somethings that should be one.

Two that should be one.

Two things that are not one, that should be left as two. I should not meddle, here, I should not aim to affect this so. These things which are a thing are not how they were meant to be, but it is how they are. I should not interfere. I should not attempt to make whole that which was not meant to be in this breath.

Despite everything I tell myself, I push forward. 

The two essences, energies here are cool and limp. When I approach, they do not jump or shake, they do not look my way or begin to quake. No, when I push myself near, they only lay in place, staring at one another across a great divide, across a great void.

One, more solid and whole, glances up at me with great, bright kaleidoscope eyes. It’s hair is short and orange, and it smiles at me as I approach it again, ignoring it’s sibling. I inform it that it could be whole again, if it chose to, but it informs me only that the gap is far too big. It cannot fly the way it once did, to its sibling, and create the way they were once able.

The other, when I glide across the gap, remains as far from me as it is able, stoic and untrusting. When I shout to it that its sibling awaits, longing to be with it, this one carries itself closer to me, meeting my insistance with doubtful, shifting shades of brown, green, and blue under long, flowing blond hair. It says nothing, only stares at me. 

When I approach its sister once again, I inform her that I have her sister’s interest, and the orange haired one grows, shifting from it’s steadfast resting place to truly engage with me, inquiring how she could possibly hug her dearest sibling once again. I inform her, to my shame, that I have not figured that out yet. While she is not so thrilled by this news, the orange woman remains in place, assuring me she will wait as long as it takes to be together forever once again.

The blond one is not so quick to trust that it is possible. For so long, I push and prod her to no avail, to no growing interest or response. I shout to her that it is possible to reunite, all she must do is trust me. All she has to do is cross the great divide. Her eyes do not belive me.

I move closer and she pulls away, so I take a single step back across the divide, and speak to the orange haired woman, asking her if she wouldn’t try shouting for her sibling, too. At first, she informs me that the divide is simply too wide, that her voice cannot carry. Showing her that she actually can takes some doing. Even as I stand next to her and shout across the road, and her sister reacts by turning her eyes on me again, the orange haired woman doesn’t believe me. 

Somehow, though, the blond woman has suddenly rushed to the edge of the curb, and her voice, strong and confident, shouts across the road with anguished ferver. She calls for her sister, longs for her, and still, even though her sister’s voice is reaching her, this only inspires the woman aside me to become more skittish, causes her to take steps back from across the divide. 

I understand in an instant how it feels for her to have now been alone for so long, faced with the prospect of reuniting with a long lost other half, without a word truly being exchanged. I do my best, say the smartest things I can manage, coax and cojaloe, and over time, the orange haired woman comes to stretch, one foot on the curb, reaching across the divide again, ready.

The blond is shorter and she has not had to stretch in so, so long. She needs warming up and coaching, and so many times she nearly falls, over and over again, she almost falls, barely catching herself as the divide cares to lick it’s maw. Before long, though, with a little guidance, both women are reaching for their twin, their difference forgotten, their separation an ache that drives them forward instead of down. 

The divide is inches wide. Centimeters. I simply lean from side to side, pressing them onward and upward, urging them closer and closer, until the divide is negative.

Until the blond woman’s hand hovers centimeters above her sister’s, so, so close to reuniting. I watch, confounded, as their hands simply will not meet. One woman teeters slightly, her hand shaking, just as the other moves upward, and they miss, then the other tries to overcorrect for the moment as her sister rights herself, and they miss, again.

Over and over, they miss, and I watch on in astonishment, feeling dismal and close to keeling. Frustration mounts. Anger grows. Why can’t they just get it right? Why won’t they just grab each other’s goddamned hands already?! I coach them both at once, getting the blond one to simply hold still, but then the post that the orange one has anchored herself on starts to waver, and she cannot get it either. When I tell the blond one to try to catch her sister, the orange light’s post steadies immediately, and the blond one begins overcorrecting for things which are not happening.

As with everything, there comes a time when you must interfere directly to make right what has gone so wrong.

I catch the orange one’s wrist, hold her tight and close, and before I can begin to listen to the whisper that is telling me not to, I beg the blonde woman to let me grab her’s, too. She looks doubtful of me, unsure that I can be trusted any longer, after all the misses and the falsely promised kisses. But she does.

Two become three, who are meant to be two. Two become whole, but one is still two.

When I blink my eyes open, the darkness is all encompassing, unbroken for miles and miles. 

Until it isn’t; Two impossibly tall figures hurry into the room, so tall that I can’t even see their heads. 

“Darlings?” One of them says, I think a woman? “Are you ready to give it another try?”

“No.” Someone pouts.

“I got it!” Another cheers, drawing my attention toward someone wearing a bright pink dress, her long hair popped into two even ponytails. In her hand, she holds a stick almost larger than her forearm, straight and shaven, light oak. Just beyond the end of her wand, a small paper frog floats, dancing to her amusement. 

“Oh, wonderful job, Poppy!” A male voice chortles, before turning back towards the pouting one. “And what about you, Dolphin?”

“I can’t do it.” Dolphin pouts. “Stupid thing won’t work.”

“It won’t work,” the woman’s voice again, “Or you won’t?”

“Ugh… Huh?” Dolphin replies. 

“Darling, your wand is just another part of you. Your sister is making it look easy, but it certainly isn't. You’ve got to work at reminding it that it’s just more of you, sometimes.” 

“More of me?” Dolphin murmurs. 

“Go on, give it a try!” The man’s voice, again.

“More of me, more of me, more of me.” Dolphin points her own wand, a shade lighter than her sister’s and far less straight, at a small, folded dolphin. She pokes her tongue into her cheek ever so slightly as she concentrates, frowning deeply.

A few moments pass.

No one says anything, least of all Poppy, who’s not paying attention.

The dolphin twitches.

Dolphin explodes, popping a good foot off of her feet as she turns to her parents, cheering, “I did it! I made it move!”

“Well done, darling!” the woman’s voice coos, as the man scoops her up in a hug, then wrestles her sister, squealing, up too.

“Great job, the both of you.” He chuckles, “With efforts like that, you’re gonna go all the way to the top! The twin Magistrates Vas Sunágō!”

When I blink my eyes open, I’m standing in a void. But I’m not. As my eyes focus, I come to realize that I am surrounded by a forrest, only it’s so many dozens and dozens of times bigger than I’m used to, so small I must be, that the blades of grass extend so high above me. Not far away, the blades of grass get higher, taller, but the dark sky beyond them does not change a bit. 

I watch as they blow and sway, but I cannot feel a breeze.

“Come on!” A voice shouts beyond me, and I turn to watch as a group of humans about as large as I am go streaming past -- No. I blink, and find that each of them is flying, wings of pure light and energy extending from their backs, from deftly cut dresses and well-designed shirts.

I’m watching Fairies travel into a meadow. I stare after them, not intending to follow but suddenly unable not to, carried along by some force that I cannot see. The one who shouted first is wearing a long, emerald green dress with a deep vee cut into the back, and her long, flowing blonde hair is trapped up into a gorgeous braid. 

“But mom!” A booming voice besides me protests, “Isn’t it a bad day for the trip to the meadow?”

Her mom does not respond, only flying ahead.

“Relax,  _ Ippy _ .” A male voice beyond my sight responds, “I’m sure if mom thought it wasn’t safe, we wouldn’t be going!”

“But --” Ippy herself begins to respond, her voice is shaking.

“Gah, just wait out here if you’re going to be such a baby, k?” Another Fae breezes by, wearing a pair of loose, blue trousers and a sleeveless, red t-shirt, her wings extending from two, small cutouts in her back, and her long flowing blond hair baring a single, brunette streak down the side. “If you don’t wanna come out here, you can just hang out in the forest like an infant. Watch out for spiders, though!”

“Shut it, Metis!” Another voice shows up, though this one pulls to a stop beside me. “And fuck you, Neer!”

Both Metis and Neer make wide faces, the latter coming into focus as a young boy with short, messy, dirty blond hair, clad in a pink, long sleeve shirt and a short, black skirt, both bringing their hands up and wiggling their fingers before blowing away.

“Don’t listen to them, Kaly.” Oh! It’s Dione, isn’t it? She’s smaller here, a meaningless metric when our sizes seem to have both changed, but her face is rounder and her body is more stout, so I would assume she’s a good decade or more younger than she was when I met her. “They don’t know shit.”

“Nereus is right, though,” the smaller Kaly murmurs, though I cannot seem to find her. “Mom thinks everything is safe. She wouldn’t listen.”

“Maybe your dream was wrong?” Dione suggests, “It wouldn’t be the first time, right?”

“Just because I was wrong about who shoved me doesn’t mean I was  _ wrong _ ,” Kaly snorts.

“Well, maybe you’re wrong about the timing of the dream?” Dione suggests instead, “Come on,” she waves to the wide, dark space just beyond tree cover, “The weather is gorgeous, nice and shiney, I’m sure nothing could sneak up on us now.”

“Yeah…” Kalypso Minor grumbles, and slowly letting herself get dragged outward, away from the trees. For a long while, Kaly seems to be the only one worried about anything, vigilantly checking around every possible blade of grass and over every hill. Eventually, however, even she seems to relax.

She and her siblings, I gather, begin playing some kind of game, each agreeing to keep their wands sheathed, while they try to bounce a ball back and forth without it hitting the ground or any of them. Kaly seems a natural, as the ball never once comes close to me, while Nereus and Metis remain just a step behind, mostly unable to manage the fakeouts and changethrows Kaly must be hitting them with. Every time they do manage to catch it, they immediately toss it towards Dione, who misses the return each and every time.

Here, I get to enjoy being around Kaly’s family a bit more; Nereus seems a bit rougher than his sisters, a little harder to crack into, but once he starts having fun, he comes alive, joking and playing, even if he can’t stop himself from picking on Dione a bit. Metis seems objectively the least likeable, laughing and jeering at Dione every time she misses, whereas Dione herself tries to keep her chin up. For her part, when she can manage, Kaly sends easy serve after easy serve at her older twin, not that the slower, straighter path helps Dee catch it.

All four of them are engaged well into their game when I hear it -- The sound of something massive stamping into the ground. Kalypso seems to hear it too, before her siblings, as Metis looses a cheer as the pebble sails past Kal down towards the ground.

“Do you all hear that?” She gasps, “Horses!”

The single word freezes all of her siblings, but where Neer and Metis begin a straight sprint for the treeline, thick and safe, I watch as Dione looks directly at me, and then we’re both flying, nearly horizontal and blurring, further into the meadow.

“Mom?!” Kaly screams.

“Momma! Where are you?”

The hammering is getting louder, now, the further the pair fly. Before long, their voices blur together with the beating of hooves, and before long, Dione starts lagging behind her slightly younger, slightly bigger sister, as Kalypso herself is driven by a dream that I can see clear as day, an echo and a thunderclap, all at once.

It’s Kal, terrified and flying like mad, who ultimately sees her mother, struggling against the wind. Quite like a cinematic boulder, a stable of horses is stampeding in almost a direct path for Kalypso’s Mom. I cannot know the outcome here, of a moment that’s happening, and yet I know the feelings, the dreads, the hopes, that are about to play out, anyway. Kal must too, because her eyes guide me to a lone human, charging after the rest of her horses on a single stede. Or, so Kal assumes.

Exposure to humans, punishable offense.

Kal is small, so small, but nevertheless, she begins an instant charge, forward until death, straight for her mom. She makes amazing speed, the wind at her back, bolstering her, and within moments, she’s crossed a massive stretch, her eyes locked onto the woman she only knows as her mom.

Closer and closer. Faster, faster.

Kaly’s not the only thing gaining on the Fae caught in the cross streams, the horses behind her are larger and they have even less ground to cover, and suddenly there are fingers wrapping around me, squeezing my entire form, ready to --

When the spell comes, Kaly does her damnedest to deflect it. She’s expecting it, prepared and well studied to wave me through the air and continue her charge, but she’s not ready for the second spell that comes blazing in after I’ve nearly been knocked out of her grasp, the one that takes her right in the chest, sending her flying back 10, 20, 30, 80 human feet, so, so far.

Before the first of the horses rams into her tiny form, knocking her to the ground, Kalypso’s mom uses her wand to send a third, final spell.

It’s a message. Kaly will listen to it over and over, as the moment her mom hits the ground replays in front of her eyes for years to come.

_ I’m so sorry, darling. Stay together. I love you. _

When I blink my eyes open, I’m laying in a square room. Around me, there stands only a wreck of a space, a space that I remember standing in only moment ago, though that couldn’t have been the case. That space was filled with people, with chairs and there was a platform where only wreckage stands now. 

“Dione!” Kalypso gasps, her hand flying to her side. Not to me, but to a pain that’s exploded there. A moment later, shaky fingers wrap around me, tugging me upward, and pressing me directly against her side. The pain ebs in it’s flow, relaxes just a bit, but it refuses to entirely abate. “Dione?!” 

“Kaly!” Her sister’s voice is horse, shrill, and still it comes out a wailing scream. “Kaly!? Are you okay?!” She’s been crying, I can hear it far more than I can see it, when Dione rises up onto her knees a handful of feet away. 

Painfully, Kaly crawls to her feet, scraping her hands, her body, across splintered chairs and broken glass, until she manages to stumbler her way toward her sister.

The sight she comes upon when she gets there almost makes her vomit, but it needn’t fear failure, as it rips her feet out from under her, sending her scrambling across her knees.

“No, no, no!” Kalypso’s scream sounds just like her sister, “PENNY!” 

Glass rips at Kal’s bare skin, her long dress already ripped away from the thigh down. “Kal, be careful!” Dione yells, but it doesn’t penetrate.

“Penny, Penny,” Kal’s voice comes faster, harsher than I’ve ever heard her speaking, as she finally stops, kneeling over the motionless woman, “Penny, hey, you gotta wake up, Penny.  _ Penelope Vas Astra, you fucking bitch, WAKE UP!” _

Penny doesn’t blink.

_ “ _ Kaly!” Dione shouts, “Knock it off! Up!” Kaly’s older sister makes it to her feet, hauling me upward, “Up, on your feet, there you go. Come on, dumbass,” the slap Dee’s hand makes against Kal’s cheek echoes around a silent room, “You need to think. What can we do, you brainiac, what can we do?”

“I --” Kaly’s frantic breathing doesn’t let her speak with more than a breath every few seconds, her eyes bouncing from the large shaft of wood sticking out of her best friend’s chest, “I don’t know. Dee, I don’t know.”

“Not fucking good enough, Kal. Look at her.” Kal’s older sister yanks her chin down, bringing Penny’s body back into full relief. “What can we do?”

Kaly’s eyes richocet away from the spot on the floor where Penny lies, staring up at the ceiling. The auditorium around them is littered with broken chairs and warped carnage, but Kaly and Dione are the only two people standing or, as far as I can tell, conscious. Aside from the bodies on the stage, the the only other causality I can see is Penny herself. Kaly seems just as quick as I am to pick up on these details, and her mind must snap to some decision, because when next she turns her gaze towards her sister, her breath is steady, and she wraps her hand around me, lifting me into the air.

“What are you doing?” Dione murmurs, her face cracking into a smile. “Kalypso, did you think of something?”

Kaly does not return her sister’s smile, but meets her gaze. She asks, plainer than I’ve ever imagined a question sounding, “Do you think there are more than 20 other people alive in this room?”

I don’t get it, not at all, but Dione seems to comprehend instantly what Kaly means. “Kal… What? I… No, no, that’s…”

“20.” Kaly murmurs, “Or Penny.”

“How do you even… You shouldn’t…” Dione stutters, her eyes jumping around the room.

“It was in some research I did a few years ago -- Dee! You need to decide what you’re going to do, but I’ve made up my mind.”

“I… Penelope, she...” Dee stutters, her eyes blurring around the room, until I watch as her eyes lock onto her fiancee, then her sister standing on just the far side of the corpse, “What do you need me to do?”

Kal’s ready instantly, “I need sightlines to twenty people, if we can manage to make it look more natural, that’d be best because we might get away with this entirely. After that, I want you to run for help. We have to do this quick; The longer we wait, the more likely we won’t get off the ground at all. And, when I pull this board out, she’s going to start losing a lot of blood, and it’s blood we won’t be able to get back. If we take too long, she’ll just die on us again, and all of this will have been for nothing.”

“Run for… Help?” Dione frowns, “But, they’ll --”

“ _ No one _ can be here but  _ me _ ,” Kal’s voice is steady, hard. “Not you, not anyone. Just me.”

“Kaly…” Dione murmurs, “Are you sure?”

“We’re going to fix this, Dee, I promise you. Together.”

“Together.” Dione murmurs, and a second later, her wand is flying through the air, demolitioning chairs and rearranging paths, Kaly directing her on the number of other people she can see.

Even after I’ve shoved their hands together, I still have to let go. 

Orange and Blond, hands linked, hold tight to each other, and after a moment of smiling at each other, they start to mold together. I watch, horror stricken, as my only two confidants these many years lose their fine edges, their features smooshing together, and I start to get drawn in with them.

As hard I can, I start to pull, start to yank, and yet, I sink deeper and deeper. Something is whispering to me, telling me that I can relax. I’ve done my job now, completed the one task that I set out to do. I can lay down now. I can slide, slide, right down into the void. It’s okay, the voice whispers, you’ll be better off this way. You won’t have to take those horrifying memories back out there, back out into the world. You can stay here, with me.

Stay.

_ Stay. _

**_Stay._ **

**_STAY._ **

**_STAY!_ **

The whisper quickly whips itself into a frenzy, and the void explodes in a riot of shapes and screams, all of them encircling me, pushing in on me, trying to stop me from escaping, trying to keep me here. Not a one of them, if indeed there are more than one, wants me to be anywhere but here, now and forever. At once, it converges in on me, pressing against my stomach, trying to damned well tear a hole in me, at the same time as another presses into my shoulders, first one then the other, and pain erupts everywhere.

Then, the void shudders to a stop, giving one final scream before the shapes drop back into the space around me, and I am left, alone, with the pure essence of my girlfriend trying to swallow me whole. I’ve never stopped struggling, though, because in here, there is no proper Kalypso. Because I made a promise.

My hands pop free and I instantly slam into the ground, but I can think of no better pain than that of freedom and success.

I look up one last time, and meet the eyes of a connected essence, a strong, pulsing energy just in front of me. I wave. She waves back.

I jump before my eyes even have the chance to open, and the arms around me instinctively squeeze as Kal immediately pulls me closer. “Are you okay?”

Her voice massages my head, just as the pounding was starting to intensify, and I sigh in relief, careful to keep my murmur low in case my throat’s dried out, “Long time no see?”

“Ugh… All of thirty seconds, yeah?” She replies, kissing my cheek, “First attempt go --” Her eyes land on it at the same time my own do, “-- Holy shit.”

Kalypso’s wand is laying, whole in front of us.

And it’s glowing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Please, feel free to leave a review or some (kind) critique or comment if you think something doesn't quite work, or what you find interesting.


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